Love, Laughs and Libraries - Travails of the Sword Coast
by Pantalion
Summary: The Sword Coast is in the grip of the iron crisis, a mysterious organisation is trying to kill him and he's being stalked by a deranged Elminster impersonator. Follow the secret and private journal of Ravayu "Half-Elf" Atar as he lives through the plot of Baldur's Gate.
1. Prologue - Meet the Protagonist

_Author's Note: This story consists of excerpts from the protagonist's journal as he progresses through the events of Baldur's Gate. Since he leaves out some details and glosses over others, to get the most out of the story, you should hopefully have played, or at least read through a Let's Play of, Baldur's Gate I._

_Hope you enjoy it!_

__**Introduction - Meet the Protagonist**

Ravayu Atar - "The Half-Elf"

A foundling who grew up in Candlekeep under the care of his foster father Gorion, Ravayu Atar is actually a full-blooded elf. His unfortunate nickname came about when one of his ears was crudely carved into the rounded shape of a human ear when he was a young child, supposedly "to help him fit in better" in Candlekeep. Halfway through the grisly process, the young elf passed out from pain and bloodloss, and his "benefactor" fled, leaving the youth to be discovered some time later by Gorion.

Ravayu never said who had perpetrated the deed, and the experience left the once boisterous, friendly child sickly, bitterly antisocial and obsessed with his studies, both publicly, as Gorion's apprentice, and in secret, engaging in more nefarious arts under the cover of night, all in the interests of waging a decade long campaign of petty theft, vicious practical jokes and several bouts of magical arson against a certain scribe.

When a little girl named Imoen also came under Gorion's care, Ravayu's first reaction was outright hostility towards this new and unwanted intruder in his life, but the years of the small human following him around gradually brought him out of his shell, he took her under his wing and she, in turn, slowly opened him up to the world he had shunned for so long. Though he never did quite forgive her for the nickname she gave him when she first arrived.

Now a young adult, if young by elven standards, Ravayu is a talented mage and better thief. Quick to anger and slow to forgive, with a streak of ruthless cunning he rarely hesitates to employ for his own benefit, especially if it would be to the detriment of the ignorant masses of humanity.

Fortunately for Faerûn at large, Imoen's plaintive looks and occasional jabs to the ribs ensure he does the right thing. At least sometimes.

Now, after many years of comparative quiet learning among the libraries of Candlekeep, Gorion has informed Ravayu that the time has come to leave, this very morning.

This is his story...


	2. Chapter 1 - A day in the life

1 Mirtul, 1369

_Hour: Matins_

Despite Father's plans to leave Candlekeep, and ominous ramblings about danger, today began as any other, I entered the Candlekeep Inn, Winthrop made his usual racist commentary, and proudly rattled off the same ridiculous 'book' joke he makes every day. And as usual, I told him to stuff it. He called me "humourless", as though the _only_ reason he still has an inn is because Ims would murder me.

Joke's on him today though, or at least his patrons, I then proceeded upstairs and relieved their bedside drawers of everything of worth. A better than usual haul today; Aleph complained, but honestly that cat does little but lounge in my pack and grumble at me.

There was one worthy guest of note at the inn today, Fatbeard Elvenhair or whatever his name was, has kindly donated a scroll to my collection or something along those lines, I wasn't really paying attention, but I must go check with Tethtoril and pick it up.

In other news, Phyldia, perhaps unsurprisingly, lost her book.

Again.

I must check with Father and see if some of these mouldy old tomes might not have some deleterious effect upon the mind, because I swear she is much worsened each visit. I daresay I'd best go look for it, if only for further spending money.

___Hour: _Lauds

I have been attacked!

Whilst checking the abandoned house in the Northern part of the keep, looking for that damnable book, some wretch by the name of "Shank" approached me unbidden, asking my name. Despite telling him to leave me to my search, he proceeded to attack me!

A swift blow to the head with my walking staff took him down easily enough, though it took several minutes to stop coughing after - apparently I am as ill suited for such activities as Imoen delights in telling me every twenty minutes.

Still, if I am to defend myself in the case of another attack, I'd best head back to Winthrop. Though the rectum-obsessed old fool claimed to be dislike me, I know he's secretly giving me a discount, I checked some of his customers' change.

On a happier note, I've found Phyl's book in the exact same place it was last time, Dreppin caught me whilst I was catching my breath. Quite why he looked so pleased with himself when he informed me about it I cannot say, but he's asked me to come back once I've dropped off the book and grabbed myself a weapon.

___Hour: _Lauds - cont.

On my way back Parda, ever eager to get the latest gossip (not that I can blame him in this fortress of dullitude) was all over the blood on me. I didn't want him figuring out where the blood came from - they're always insisting on making me drink vile herbal concoctions when they realise - so I was quick to play the sympathy card, sending him trundling off delighted at the latest news, all the while cackling "I told you so!".

Phyl paid up as usual, precious stones in exchange for minutes of work. Got to love early onset dementia. It was a shame that Winthrop decided it was worth all of seven gold coins - barely worth putting up with his babble - but it's always most gratifying to picture the bereft guests approaching him about their missing goods, only to find them among his wares. Though a bow was out of my price range (despite Father's clearly massive fortune to be able to pay Candlekeep's book toll, even with my own supplemental income, I have barely forty gold pieces, I must wonder at his grasp on economics), it felt better to hold a sword in my hand - at least until I had to switch back to my walking staff.

I took the opportunity to scribe a few scrolls I found in Winthrop's back room, I swear this is the third time I've had to populate my spellbook from scratch. Is Imoen selling them to the library?

Regardless, two new spells, Armour - potentially very useful I imagine, and Infravision - a spell I assume intended for use by some bizarre lesser race that somehow can't see in the dark. I should ask Imoen if she knows of one before I leave and lose the opportunity for who knows how long.

I've been dealing with that particular fact by ignoring it, to be honest. I'll miss her terribly, but she always was more Winthrop's creature than Father's, it should be safer for her here. But regardless, dwelling on it will help nothing. Seeing what mindless drudgery Dreppin wants will hopefully distract me from the inevitable a little longer.

_Hour: Primes_

Dreppin, scratching his privates more than is socially acceptable, has requested I locate Hull and find some magical cure-all for his "cow". Suddenly the way Phyldia's belongings keep ending up in his haypile take on a new and terrible significance. Hopefully the pain of leaving my lifelong friend will someday help blot this image from my mind forever, but a bow is a bow, I must find Drep- I mean "Nessa's" cure.

Whilst heading for the gates, where Hull should be stationed (if he hasn't finally died from his cirrhosis) Jondalar intercepted me, telling me that Father had told him to teach me the art of combat.

Just in the nick of time Jondalar.

On the bright side, he told me to stab him, I was so happy to oblige it came as a complete surprise when he told me that someone else had started shooting arrows at me during the "battle". Reevor, who'd watched the whole thing with disturbing intensity, then pulled me aside and threw me into his storehouse, which I'd been procrastinating entering for well over a week, given the smell. Trust a dwarf not to understand the concept of "perishables". Six dead rats later, and Aleph was finally happy, and full, for a change, a gift far more valuable than the *five* gold pieces that cheapskate paid me for exterminator duties, even though it took me an extra ten minutes sat down in there amidst the stench so that I didn't seem too exhausted when I came out.

No sign of Hull. Hope springs dully within my breast.

_Primes - cont._

... Scratch that, he's still alive and on duty, though how he expects to guard anything having forgot his own sword is another matter.

He asked me to go through his stuff to find it, so naturally I accepted, only for yet another halfwit to try and teach me how to fight. Thankfully some volunteers got involved and did all the heavy lifting. Illusions or no, I've had quite enough battle for one day.

_Hour: Terces_

Apparently writing that tempted fate too far today; a second assassin has tried to murder me, I never found my habit of running buildings quite so dangerous! Fortunately I appear not to be as easy to kill as all that, as I took down my attacker in a single blow. I wasn't even breathing hard when Karan, another of the keep's resident gossip gurus charged up.

Fortunately, Hull's Sword was easily found (and it was most gratifying to be in the barracks rummaging around in the chests without having to worry about some uppity bald virgin taking offence!), as was Dreppin's medicine, so I dropped off one, then the other. Dreppin was most thankful, if a touch incoherent. I of course refused to shake his hand.

Hull of course, was an ass, but fortunately for him I am simply too tired to impale him with the sword he was too lazy to grab, and will soon be miles from here, too far to exact appropriate punishment for his demeanour.

_Hour: Sexts_

I've finally found Ims. She was hiding out in the gardens again, making life harder for Winthrop by neglecting to do her chores, the delightful girl. I told her we were leaving, and naturally she wanted to come. I said I'd ask Father, but she said something about a letter he was carrying, and that he'd never allow her to come. I've no shame in saying there was a lump in my throat when we parted, even her perpetual cheeriness felt a little hollow.

This "letter" however, is most interesting, perhaps I'll be able to sneak a peek at it during camp tonight?

_Sexts - cont._

I was just heading to return to the inn, my efforts had finally paid enough dividends to purchase a new bow (come to think of it, wasn't it when Imoen asked to look at it when my last one disappeared?), when Tethtoril came and gave me that scroll that Fatbeard had offered me. I quickly scribed it, it's so hard to find decent folk nowadays, I resolved to thank him when I got back to the inn.

Checking with Winthrop, I picked up the last of the items I'd be bringing with me; a suit of leather armour, a bow, buckler, and a scant few arrows in addition to my sword. Thankfully I'd managed to locate a healing potion from someone's desk (I'm fairly sure the guards are still looking for me, something I consider to be an appropriate farewell gift to them). Though I'm still feeling a touch underprepared for this undertaking (this is my first sortie from the keep in over twenty years after all), I suppose it's now or never. It's time to go see Father and begin our journey.


	3. On the open road

**2 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Vigils_

Father is dead. Slain by some armoured warrior who wanted me. He fell protecting me to the last, and now I am alone.

I can barely even collect my thoughts on those events, the explosions, the carnage, and the searing agony from the arrows piercing my body. Father said to travel to the Friendly Arm Inn, but right now all I can think of, in the harsh light of the new dawn, is to find my way back to his side, to bury him, if nothing else.

_Hour: Matins_

Imoen is here, she followed after us and now we are both trapped outside the comparative safety of Candlekeep. At least if we are doomed, we are doomed together, though now, travelling through the woods as we are, that may be sooner rather than later.

_Hour: Sexts_

My father has been buried. His letter reveals only more questions, all I have left to remember him is his belt, slung around my own waist.

I have no more words on this.

_Hour: Nones_

Found a suicidal poet or something, said he'd jump if I came any closer, and not to try to stop him.

Apparently I'm that good, because no sooner than I opened my mouth he decided life was joyous and left.

That a human like this can persist when my Father lays yet warm in the ground is galling, to say the least.

_Hour: Nones - cont._

Encountered a dangerous psychotic and his equally murderous companion, haunting the roads. No sooner had we warily accepted their company than the mage said something about taking my eyes!

Needless to say we swiftly broke ranks with them and let fly with our bows, the mage fell in a single blow and the halfling fell with a battlecry half at his lips, just before he reached us. The world is a better place without these elf murdering scum I'm sure. Even Ims, usually so soft-hearted, didn't bat an eyelash at what needed to be done.

Searching their corpses supplied Imoen with a suit of studded leather, and myself with two new spells. I tried getting Imoen interested in magic as I scribed them, but I can't tell if it's sinking in at all, you'd think with all the spellbooks she's stolen from me in the past she'd be a natural archmage by now.

_Hour: Vespers_

After an encounter with a wolf on the roads left Imoen heavily wounded, we met what was either an Elminster impersonator or the man himself. I don't quite know why anyone but him would indulge in a bright red pointy hat, but I don't know why the real Elminster would take time out of his busy day handling matters of literally cosmic importance to tat around the hind end of the Sword Coast either. Perhaps there's another convention down in Candlekeep? He seemed to be headed that way.

Surprisingly, I find that I already rather miss it.

Candlekeep, that is, not the Elminster conventions.

_Hour: Vespers - cont._

Another wolf, and then a Dire Wolf. Imoen managed to take down the first with a wand she was carrying whilst I distracted it in melee, whilst I managed to let loose a sleep spell on the dire wolf, allowing me to slit its throat while it slept.

Goddess help us if we ever encounter a pack of them out here. We can't get to the inn quick enough.

On top of all that, it's started to rain, I can already feel myself shivering. Not to mention Aleph's digging his claws through my pack, as though the damp were somehow my fault.

_Hour: Complines_

I write this in the "safety" of the Friendly Arms. They did nothing to prevent another assassin from making an attempt on my life as we arrived in plain daylight. Thankfully Imoen had lagged a little behind ("tired" despite insisting I carry the lion's share of any loot we discovered from the Hobgoblins that insisted upon waylaying us), so he struck me instead of her with his spell, she surely would have died.

I know that I very nearly did, and the fear spell that struck me moments after left me helplessly running around the corner which, as it turns out, was the best possible result, Ims put an arrow in his back as he chased after me to land the killing blow, and now I have two more spells in my growing collection and a bounty notice for myself. 200 measly gold? I've acquired that in the two scant days since my journey began. We'll have to see about increasing it.

I see two likely individuals who may be the two I seek, but it will have to wait until after we've slept and treated our wounds.


	4. Off the open road again

**3 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

I'm pleased to report that the tenants of the Friendly Arms are no more careful of their possessions than in Candlekeep, though I'm at a loss as to what I might do with a pair of golden trousers.

Jaheira and her husband appear to be decent enough people, and we've accepted their offer to travel together, though their claims to guardianship appear spurious, we're around the same age by my estimation, but who can really tell with half-humans?

Though they mention heading towards Nashkel as their next port of call, there were enough people around the Friendly Arms reporting missing valuables (other than the obvious, of course) that I feel a more thorough check of the surrounding area is in order. More when I get back.

_Hour: Nones_

Not a bad haul. Found two rings, one under a rock (suspicious), one under the corpse of a hobgoblin that discovered itself uncomfortably acquainted with Jaheira's staff. The latter had a name engraved into it, so perhaps I might find an owner willing to pay more than market value. The former, on the other hand, radiated magical energies, so I placed it upon my finger for safekeeping, at least until I can find a quiet day or two to prepare the spell to identify it, and my Father's girdle.

Blast! it just occurred to me that I forgot to thank Fatbeard for his scroll!

_Hour: Vespers_

Searching about the inn for an owner brought no takers, and nearly landed me in a fight with a rather foul tempered half-orc who took me for a serving wench!

Actually, come to think of it, the man with the golden breeches took me for a member of staff as well (something I was in no hurry to disabuse him of, free stuff is free stuff). Do my clothes match some kind of uniform I'm not aware of?

I did finally find the owner in a house elsewhere on the property. She offered no reward, but seeing as I had just robbed her blind, Imoen made me give her the thing anyway. Ah well.

By now it's past sunset, and setting out into the deepening gloom seems foolhardy (that and I'm exhausted, slaughtering monstrous humanoids and taking their stuff is tiring work), so we'll be spending another night in the Friendly Arm's finest suite. Imoen has insisted we get a drink before bed and "get to know each other better" first, so I suppose I'll write again just before we go to sleep.


	5. Due South

**4 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Terces_

I am never, ever, drinking again; my head is still in agony, though I feel like a bit of a cad for mentioning it given the circumstances. Jaheira is dead, struck down by an ogre belt fetishist (don't ask, dear journal), and her wife Khalid, whose terrified flight from the battle facilitated this sad turn of events, is beside herself with grief. This is possibly compounded by the fact that I decided her the best candidate to test the various belts the ogre possessed in order to find one that someone in the Friendly Arms was offering a reward for.

Now I'm torn between going to the temple to revive Jaheira, saving up for a curse removal spell first for Khalid to preserve her psychological well being, or trying to hook Khalid up with a new man to ease her grief, perhaps that half-orc I met yesterday?

Would Jaheira even notice?

Anyway. we are now the proud, if temporary. owners of a purloined magical belt. Time to return it to its rightful owner for our well-deserved reward!

_Hour: Sexts_

70 Gold pieces for a magic belt and an insult as to our hygiene?! I was tempted to stab the cheapskate for the insult, but Imoen dragged me out of the room. Not before I managed to pick the harlot's pocket though. If I hadn't found yet another magical ring beneath a rock (must be a religious thing) earlier I'd swear the world was against me.

70 Gold probably doesn't put us past the amount needed to raise Jaheira from the dead (Khalid is still pouting because I refused to check), so we're honouring her last wishes of travelling to Beregost to the south.

_Hour: Sexts - cont._

Imoen, who is a _nosey little wench looking over my shoulder_, informs me that it's actually _Nashkel_ Jaheira wanted us to go to. Maybe if she hadn't tried to kill me by plying me with that fateful glass of black ale on me last night I'd not have forgotten it.

_Hour: Nones_

A lot of reports of banditry on the road leading to Beregost. I assume they were all busy looking for caravans of course, since there was no sign of any bandits in the area when we travelled through.

_Hour: Complines_

I am beyond exhausted, but thankfully here we are in Beregost. I'm making a beeline for the nearest inn. Well, I've had to "stop" at several houses whilst trying to _find_ the nearest inn, this place is far bigger than the Keep.

In unrelated news, I am now the proud owner of my own personal library; the smell of books feels... comforting. Aleph wasted no time curling up right among them.

Fortunately a passing idiot not only has offered to show us the way to an Inn, but also offered us 300 gold for some simple bodyguard job right outside. I'll update more once it's over.

Maybe with the money we can finally revive Jaheira?

She's starting to smell.

_Hour: Complines - cont._

Well there's one lying monster who won't be pulling any nonsense like that again. No sooner than we'd taken the job, three shady looking gentlemen come up. I took them all down with a sleep spell (I was almost dozing off myself, so I was a little jealous of them, at least before the stabbing). From what the village idiot who brought us said, it was all a set up!

Naturally I wasn't about to let our employer get away with that, so I stabbed her too for good measure, and now Imoen's glaring at me.

Again.

At least the idiot left, and I can finally get inside the inn for some sleep. Goodnight world.

_Hour: Nocturnes_

Sweet merciful Goddess, what have I done, lately, to deserve this?! _Another_ Assassin came for me as I entered the inn, and now Imoen, poor, sweet Imoen lies dead as well after he cornered her in the entryway. Yet again, Khalid proved she was happy to let someone else take the hits for her and I was left to take the villain down with my bow, my eyes blurry with sleep and tears both.

Finding a temple has become my number two priority, if I don't rest, I probably wouldn't make it to the temple myself, I can feel my lungs burning.


	6. Making Friends

**5 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Matins_

Apparently turning back the bonds of death is a bargain at only a hundred gold. I only wish I'd known this before burying my Father. If nothing else, it probably would have worked out quite a bit less work to drag him back to a temple than to bury him. Why did nobody tell me?!

In other, terrible, news, I've embarrassed myself in front of the temple priest and all the Sirines by hugging Imoen and making a scene. I swear these people take peeling back death's eternal veil far too lightly.

And no, Jaheira didn't notice. Imoen owes me five gold.

_Hour: Lauds_

We were hired for another mercenary job (nothing bad this time, Ims made me check), accompanying some dwarf to look for a kidnapped child to the North of town.

Come to think of it, I'm not even entirely sure if he agreed to pay us anything.

_Hour: Prime_

Not four hours later, the very moment we arrived, and he's given up and decided to come with us instead. That's it, end of story. So now we have a hairy drunken dwarf with ADD following us around.

As I write this, he's leering at Khalid and Jaheira and making them both feel uncomfortable. So it's not all bad. I think I'll keep him, he's got to be better than Khalid.

_Hour: Nones_

I've expanded my library thanks to a few poorly locked drawers across the town. It's grown so big that Imoen has taken it upon herself to carry a few. I think she misses Father more than she lets on.

Ugh, who doesn't hate finding a book in the _middle_ of a trilogy?

_Hour: Nones - cont._

I met Fatbeard again! He modestly didn't mention the gift he gave me, and I was too embarrassed at my forgetfulness back at the keep to say anything, but he did mention wanting a book. It was in my collection already, and I figured I owed him, so I handed it over.

He gave me another book in exchange, so I guess I've broke even on that one?

_Hour: Vespers_

Khalid's been complaining that I'm "e-e-evil" all day. I think she's still mad that I declined to pay for her curse to be removed. To prove her wrong, I even sympathised with some drunk who tried to pick a fight with me as I walked into the Feldepost, but you'd think Little Miss Onceman didn't even care, she was still whining until I plied her with enough mead to kill a goblin. Ahhh peace.

To celebrate, I blew all our money on new scrolls for my collection. Everyone's sort of mad, but I don't care, they know as well as I do who earned that thousand gold, and I'm sure I'll probably figure out how to cast some of these things someday. I even filched a sweet new cloak off some fat guy who bumped into me upstairs, everything's coming up Rav today, despite the brief run in with the guards.

_Hour: Complines_

On our rounds, we bumped into a slightly addled half elf girl, claiming something about magic bandits. Naturally I wasn't about to fall for another "murder strangers for coin" type request, but I really didn't have a choice in this case - the magic bandits threatened me! A quick sleep spell took out the two thugs with him, but I almost died when the mage decided to punctuate my ribcage with a firebolt. I suspect that Father's belt may have something to do with it, I really should take the time to identify it sooner or later.

Anyway, apparently the girl's name is Neera. and she's coming with us to work off her debt, since she didn't have a coin to pay for the job. Imoen made a crack about travelling with a group of half-elves, but I was honestly in too much pain to take a swing at her.

_Hour: Vigils_

After a lengthy recovery period, where Jaheira passed the time by berating me for being "an insult to the very concept of survival of the fittest" as she cast her healing magics, I have now expanded my library even further by visiting the library of someone else. It's got so extensive now that Neera's had to take some of the load. Evenings have become much more tolerable with reading materials available.

Khalid, who is unfortunately sober enough to speak once more, complained about holding onto our books, so instead she gets to hold onto the dead giant spider corpse, proof of our victory for yet another reward from the Friendly Arm Inn once we make the trek back there.

At least I feel myself growing a little more used to all this walking.


	7. Chapter 2 - To Nashkel!

**6 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Sexts_

Jaheira confronted me today, demanding we head off to Nashkel, as if she wasn't a major cause of our delay. I'd mind less if we weren't already heading that way. Perhaps being dead too long caused her some lasting brain damage? I'm glad Ims was okay.

All the same, the Treehugger better pack it in before I start shooting squirrels just to spite her (rather than just to give Aleph a tasty snack).

_Hour: Nones_

Neera's just asked we go someplace a few days travel Eastwards to search for a mysterious mighty mage to stop her being quite so indiscriminately dangerous, so we'll be going there first. That'll teach a certain bossy ogre lover to keep her trap shut.

**8 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Complines_

I hate goblins.

I hate caves.

I'm fairly ambivalent about insane magical surges of incalculable danger too.

Unfortunately the wizard's demesne had all three of these things, Nothing a quick sleep spell couldn't trivialise, but all the same, armies of cave goblins is not what I signed up for. I still don't know how they managed to even use composite longbows!

Forget this nonsense, we'll come back later, Neera can just cast downwind for the time-being.

**9 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

Jaheira and Khalid have parted ways with us, and I find myself travelling with the surly half-orc I met from the Friendly Arms Inn, a fellow by the name of Dorn. He doesn't seem a bad sort, and since he didn't grumble in the slightest when he had to carry the fourteen suits of armour that J & K were carrying for me, I think I like him.

Since the two ladies are no longer with us, there's no need for me to head to Nashkel anymore, so it's off to the Carnival!

_Hour: Sexts_

Apparently I hate Carnivals as well.

First, a crazed mage murdered a witch in front of me, though thankfully in the cramped conditions of the circus tent he was quickly felled before he could do more damage, a con artist sold us two "fantastic" potions with such terrible side effects Kagain felt compelled to strike him down in protest of his "No Refunds" policy, so now we're in trouble with the law.

Checking another tent, a thief who felt compelled to introduce himself as "Vitiare" tried to rob us; and Neera tried to stop him with a sleep spell.

After we all regained consciousness and recovered our funds from the pieces of the thief's corpse, we bade a quick farewell to the carnival before the rest of the tent recovered and travelled West to Nashkel to rest before returning North to more hospitable climes (Kagain was even struck by lightning today!).

_Hour: Nones_

Dorn has made perfectly clear that Neera is not to cast any further spells within ten feet of him, on pain of death. The silence is at least a trifle more awkward than it was this morning.

_Hour: Complines_

On reaching Nashkel, and visiting another accommodatingly absent noble, the others in the party have insisted, despite my protests, on keeping only a single copy of each volume in order to make room for travel rations. Even Aleph was against me!

Presumably because he had started being forced to walk, but still.

This is a clear tyranny of the majority, but I've had no choice but to comply. Piles of books now lay scattered across the streets of Nashkel, testament to the second lost library of Candlekeep, as does the corpse of yet another assassin.

In other news, my bounty's up to 680 gold, still a fraction of what I've earned in the almost two weeks since I departed Candlekeep. Who keeps throwing their life away for such a pittance?

Regardless, to bed, bath, and the dreamless beyond, it shall be nice not to be camping for a change.

**10 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

Some idiot in the street called me "Greywolf". I'm pretty sure I could have talked my way into a few hundred pieces of gold, but accuracy is important, I'm not getting an entire legion of assassins after me with a stupid name like "Greywolf". Kagain's grumbling at me for passing up on the gold, honestly, dwarves have no comprehension of the true power of Legacy.

In unrelated news, not only did I scare an entire Amnish infantry battalion into shutting up and leaving me be, they were so terrified they left me to my own devices in their barracks. Needless to say I'm substantially richer, and pondering sending Khalid an invitation to the Amnish military, I think she'd fit right in.

_Hour: Lauds_

Everything must have been going too smoothly, as a rather large individual by the name of "Minsc" accosted me in the street and assaulted me with a rodent. My first instinct was to introduce him to Aleph - it's hard to find any squirrels or birds for him in towns, but apparently his sob story struck a chord in the nosey individual who is once again peeking at me writing in my private journal, and we've been press ganged into helping find his missing witch.

I really hope it wasn't the one over in the Carnival, the man doesn't appear very stable, but he seems confident she lies to the West, not the East.

_Hour: Lauds - cont._

On our way out of town, we spotted another of the Red Wizards who have been after Neera, but a quick pair of arrows from Imoen and myself took him down before he even saw us. Sadly the same could not be said of the village idiot at the other end of the bridge, but his end was so clearly a mercy killing that even Imoen agreed.

**11 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Complines_

I write this our having pitched camp for the night. Our journey to the West, so far as it goes, continues to go well. Some Amnians insulted me, giving me a good workout for the new wand of lightning I picked up - and probably for the best I did too, a single one of their arrows left me groping for a healing potion, and the swordswoman almost cut Minsc in two with a single blow.

Since Jaheira is now presumably berating Khalid somewhere far, far away from here, we've nobody around to patch us up after our misadventures, so I feel absolutely awful. Hopefully a good night's sleep will help.

If Minsc will stop narrating to his hamster at least.


	8. Journey to the West

**12 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Vigils_

Horrendous nightmare in the night, seeing my Father die over and over, yet I feel... empowered, by the harrowing experience.

Thankfully I was awoken from my slumber by a gnoll ambush (Minsc seems to have taken this as a good sign), and after putting them to sleep themselves, I fed upon one of them with a new spell I hadn't previously possessed, draining the lifeforce of one to cure some of my wounds from yesterday's battle.

I'm not quite sure how these ambushes keep sneaking up on us. Perhaps we shouldn't have taken Minsc's offer of having Boo take the night's watch?

Regardless, back to sleep, and hopefully a dreamless one at that. Plenty of travelling still before us in the morning.

**13 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

I do say this in all seriousness. I shall never again work with small children or animals. The things I have seen these last few days can never be unseen.

**14 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

In a delightful turn of events, I have begun to encounter Winter Wolves. These normally frightful creatures are unable to harm me, thanks to Father's magical belt.

Perhaps my dream was a premonition?

In any case, I have begun collecting their pelts, I seem to recall someone mentioning a demand for them, if I could but remember where. Thank you again Father.

Neera opened up to me a little today. A girl after my own heart in many aspects, though I think we all remember the carnival a little too keenly at present. Wild Magic is a fascinating, delicate thing, and I'm prepared to fight to keep one more fascinating, delicate thing out of the hands of unsavoury sages.

**15 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

Finally at the Gnoll Stronghold! I'd been starting to get think about using my new drain spell on Kagain and recover the vigour I'd felt against that last lot of gnolls. Goddess knows he has plenty of vigour to spare, and with the complaining he's been doing for the last few good deeds the group did (as per usual, I passed the blame onto Imoen), I'm not sure we'd notice the difference.

Still, must concentrate now, there appear to be two oversized orcs coming our way. Write more later.


	9. In the Aftermath

**18 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Sexts_

Well, I think we've all learned something from this little adventure.

**1: Don't let Kagain handle haggling.**

At this point we (well, I) have earned thousands of gold through means fair and foul. There was no reason for those orcs to die for the sake of less than half a day's earnings. Still, Kagain has been as happy as a hairy, slightly overripe, clam since he found a snazzy new pair of gloves on their corpses. He even agreed to carry the individual book volumes for a bit, thankfully. Even dread vampiric powers can barely keep up with the constant fatigue of lugging around our collection.

**2: Ask for directions.**

If Minsc had just specified that these Gnolls were North inside the keep instead of in the cavern complex to the South, I might never have been sprayed by giant creepy worm gore. That in itself would be well worth the effort. Still, he's found his witch and the two of them are off on happy magical adventures doing whatever it is that they were going to do together. I almost feel happy for them, except they abandoned us in the middle of that hellhole of a keep having to fight our way out.

**3: Marching order matters.**

In hindsight, it probably wasn't a good idea to have Neera chatting with me up in the front of the group. Whilst I try to set the pace (I have my pride. And my walking stick), on narrow mountain ledges it would probably be better to have someone more durable, and less likable, standing between me and danger.

Fortunately I was able to take down the Xvart ambush myself before Neera had to break Dorn's ten foot magic rule, or I'd need to find a new Wild Mage, and quite possibly a new Blackguard.

**4: Don't let Imoen handle the book filing.**

During our misguided romp through Wormyuck Caves we found a fascinating new book on public speaking that I'd never seen before, not even on Candlekeep's shelves. Reading it just before we settled down for the night, I gave explicit instructions to Imoen to store it with her volumes in the morning. I woke up to discover that she had, of course, lost it, claiming that it had "disappeared"!

She is being extra nice about it though.

Come to think of it, everyone's been especially nice to me today. I think they're finally coming around to understanding the value of books!

Still, I finally feel like I'm starting to get the hang of this whole "adventuring" thing, courtesy of an ex-con-artist mage who was selling cursed goods to unsuspecting folk. I'm starting to feel like a real do-gooder here.

Anyway, we're heading North-East for Beregost from here, three days of more or less constant gnoll attacks left us in dire need of some rest and relaxation.

And a hot bath, I still have chunks of worm in my hair.


	10. Encounters Most Fowl

**20 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

Met my first Drow today.

Mood: Unimpressed.

Despite Drow in the books I've read being deadly warriors without peer, this one had managed to get himself into a bit of a bind with some Gnolls. Fortunately for him, we're probably the most eminent gnoll-slayers within a hundred miles at this point, so whilst he stood there like a lemon, we mopped up the entire squad ourselves in under a minute with a quick sleep spell and some liberally applied violence.

The elf called himself Drizzle or something, I wasn't really listening. The topic of payment for our services never came up, so I helped myself to one of his swords before we continued on our way. Still a full day's travel away from civilisation, and soap.

**21 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

It occurs to me today that I've not mentioned a series of bandit attacks that have happened on our journey North. Perhaps because people throwing their lives away to fall to a single sleep spell hardly seems notable. Perhaps I'm becoming accustomed to our daily wage of murder?

There was perhaps one oddity worse than usual, an insane cleric having a tea party with an army of the undead. A brutal and painful affair for all involved. Especially the cleric, Imoen applied her blade to his back along with a heartfelt apology. Sometimes I wonder about that girl. His holy symbol looked valuable, so naturally I took it. Maybe I'll take it to the temple when we reach Beregost, see if they know what it is.

_Hour: __Terces_

We have just met a talking chicken.

After making absolutely sure that the creature did not belong to, nor was in any way affiliated with, a small child, we have agreed to allow it to accompany us North. Kagain, thankfully, volunteered his pack, I neither desire chicken dung to coat my books, nor believe Aleph would allow a fellow passenger to survive the experience.

_Hour: Nones_

Well, the chicken's master Thalantyr is rude, antisocial, arrogant, attacked us with two flesh golems, sent us on an errand for the best part of an hour, refused to pay us, and crafted a spell solely to murder the chicken.

Needless to say, I have met my new idol.

Neera and myself have stripped him of most of his scroll selection, and we may well be coming back another time for some of those artifacts he's sitting on. My spellbook is practically glowing with spells of supreme arcane might at this point, at least a few of which I know how to cast.

I've passed on the duplicates to Imoen, though they still don't seem to be sparking any interest, sadly.

_Hour: Vespers_

Whilst clearing the area around Thalantyr's home of what I assume to be some more of the cleric's unholy tea-partiers we ran across an Elven ranger by the name of Kivan, who agreed to accompany us if we helped him with some revenge. I can appreciate a good vengeance, and someone who doesn't mention my ears (in fact, he doesn't mention much at all), so our motley crew has another member.

It's sort of a shame we sold all our halberds, magical armours and composite longbows to Thalantyr for scoll-money just before we met him.

Beregost is but a short way Eastwards from here, I can practically _taste_ the bathwater.

_Hour: Vespers - cont._

Disregard that last part dear journal, that would be disgusting.

_Hour: Complines_

Turns out there was a reward for the holy symbol! A sweet 5,000 Gold, an amount my would-be-assassins can scarce dream of I'm sure. I want to try out a few new techniques I picked up down South on some of the more stubborn households, so I'll probably sweep through town quickly on our way to Feldepost's and the finest accommodations gold can buy.

_Hour: Vigils_

Now that a good portion of the town's economy resides in my packs, I think it perhaps wisest if we make ourselves scarce first thing in the morning. A few quiet nights in the Friendly Arms ought to do it.

First things first though, sweet asepsis awaits!


	11. Downtime

**22 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

Guards were at the city gate to the North looking ominous, so we left Beregost via the scenic route.

It appears I was probably wise to let Jaheira and her wife go, Druids are clearly a devious and insane lot. First, a mad druid and his harem of bears attacks us, then another druid claimed to have put the first druid up to it.

I am not some pawn in tree-hugger power struggles!

I assume both will be fairly happy now, they're going to make great fertiliser.

The Friendly Arms is still the best part of a day's to the North West, through a place called Peldvale. I've grown accustomed to pushing myself harder and harder to keep up with the group. It feels like I'm tired all the time now, and my cough is getting worse. I'd have considered buying horses for the party, only nobody ever seems to be selling any.

At least it will be nice to have a chance to rest, recover, and identify this mountain of "acquisitions" sitting in my pack.

_Hour: Nones_

I'm actually writing this whilst waiting for the hold spell to wear off everyone else.

I'm pleased to say that we actually have a healer travelling with us in the first time in pretty much forever. Another Drow (they seem to be popping up everywhere nowadays) by the name of Viconia was being harassed by some human claiming that she was a murderer. No human has the right to mess with an elf like that, so we challenged him, and now she travels with us for protection.

Kivan, alas, told us that he couldn't travel with a Drow. I never pegged him for a racist. Easy come, easy go. He didn't have any nice stuff anyway.

**25 Mirtul, 1369**

I'm finally starting to feel Elven again. Three full days of downtime. Magical artifacts identified, stubborn travel stains finally scrubbed from my robes, and I finally got the chance to finish reading the complete "The History of the North" series. We're all suitably refreshed, and with a fresh influx of gold that Kagain is even now eyeing at my belt. I think we'll head west this time, It's been so long since I saw the ocean, I'm actually starting to feel a little homesick.


	12. Wet Girl on Girl Action

**26 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

A quiet and largely uneventful day exploring along the coast. We barely had to stab _anyone_ today!

It's actually sort of worrying how my life is lately that no assassins and comparatively few species of fauna trying to murder me counts as uneventful, but camping here on the cliffside, watching the sun set over the open water as we bask in the wild majesty of nature is remarkably... pleasant.

Fine food, fine view, fine company, and Kagain. Too bad something terrible will probably happen tomorrow.

**27 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

Well, Neera died.

Sort of?

We were travelling along the coast and this blue lady came up to her, asking to travel with us for protection. Before you know it, she's planted a kiss on Neera (kind of hot actually), and Neera's drowning on the floor, coughing up sea water.

Fortunately, the blue skinned girl, whose name was Shoal, explained that it was all some Ogre's fault and promised to reverse the death curse if we killed him. We're always willing to murder ogres (I still remember the horror of that belt fetishist), so win/win I figured. A fond farewell to Shoal and we were on our way again.

_Hour: Primes - cont._

It has come to my attention that Neera's agonised death throes caused the complete History of Shadowdale collection to become completely disorganised. As a result, I have instituted a kill on sight policy against all these watery wenches that we see.

_Hour: Vespers_

Our war with the sea has not been without casualties, the Nereid's dark magic has left both Viconia and Neera cold and silent (and I begin to appreciate the apathy towards which the temple staff approach life and death, Neera in particular should appreciate a frequent dyer discount), but no fewer than seven of these dark creatures have fallen to operation Systemic Dewey Decimation!

_Hour: Complines_

We've found a cave on the coast. Rather than rest exposed on the beach the night before our return to civilisation, we've decided to take shelter there instead.

**28 Mirtul, 1369**

_Hour: Matins_

I hate caves.

What kind of sick psychopath puts a trap in a cave?

For that matter, what kind of demented freak puts automated flesh golems in a cave?!

By the time we'd finally cleared out the killbots and cleared a safe perimeter in the cave it was well past Vigils, and when we did finally get to make camp, creepy death worms skittered out of the walls to harass us incessantly.

About the only good thing in there was finding a book on the virtues of callisthenics An interesting read, but the thing was so old and musty it disintegrated as I was reading it. I don't know how the scholars at Candlekeep ever managed.

All this sea air seems to have done me some good though, for the first time in almost a decade, my lungs have stopped hurting and I'm walking without having to lean on my walking staff so much. We're heading back to civilisation to sell off the spoils of victory and grab some well earned rest from our vacation.

Oh! And revive our fallen comrades, even though the temples have started gouging us with higher and higher prices lately. You'd think the opposite after all the business I send their way!

**1 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

Kagain's axe broke today whilst we were wiping out a hobgoblin group foolish enough to challenge us, and I've had to fork out eighteen gold for a replacement.

As such, we'll be heading south to Nashkel. This iron shortage is a blight upon the land and must be stopped! Whoever is behind this must pay!


	13. Into the Depths

**4 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Nones_

Found the necromancer that Dorn's been complaining about for about a week now (I appreciate a good vengeance as much as the next elf, but Dorn takes this stuff pretty seriously). She made a pretty speech, summoned an army of undead, and then promptly threw herself into that army of undead screaming for us to flee.

Sweet Goddess I love the Charm spell.

When we came back and sifted through the chunks, we discovered a note indicating that more of Dorn's ex-compatriots lie far away, near Baldur's Gate. I've promised Dorn we'll look into it if, for some unlikely reason, we ever find ourselves that far North.

Whilst checking out the rest of the area we encountered a "damsel in distress" (as Imoen put it), asking us to bring some mercenary to the Temple in the Friendly Arms.

As you might guess, dear Journal, that means we're off North again (thank you so much Ims), though I was pretty sure there was a reason we'd travelled back South to Amnish territory.

**6 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

It's not all bad I guess, thanks to our detour, I spotted a wanted poster of yours truly over some random idiot (who must have been important I guess to warrant a bounty) who came up to us and called us bandits before being summarily turned into tiny, tiny giblets.

A quick "donation" to the temple (clearly simple blood money) cleared the matter up, but still, how unfair. I thought for sure a speak with dead spell required the subjects mouth to be intact?

Well, that and the fact that we're in trouble for killing some guy who attacked us first. Even Ims wasn't mad with me that time!

**7 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

Right, after a pleasant night at the inn, during which Neera reminded me why we were down there, it's back South again, nothing will stop us this time!

FOR NASHKEL!

_Hour: Complines_

Okay fine, Kagain's axe broke again, so I've been forced to turn back and indulge him with a magic one here in Beregost. Since we're here we may as well get some sleep, but tomorrow, South again, and this time _definitely _nothing will stop us!

**8 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

I met Greywolf today, a lumpy featured human. I'd have done something horrible to him anyway for the insult of being mistaken for him, but the man was trying to interfere with the creation of a sculpture of elven beauty! I know what to do about humans like that, so now his stuff, and his life, are mine. He can keep the damn name. Bigot.

We've holed up for the evening to traverse the mine fresh on the morrow. The last thing I want is to encounter some of the demonic spirits the miners are speaking about at the height of their power. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of this quickly so that I never have to buy anything for Kagain ever, ever again.


	14. Open Fire

**10 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

I hate mines.

Hate skeletons.

_Especially_ hate kobolds.

I hate tricksy lying clerics who live in mines with hordes of skeletons and kobolds as well. After we met the homely fellow responsible for the loss of 34 gold pieces worth of axes and moderate inconvenience, I very reasonably gave him the opportunity to surrender and pay me back the money for the axes - his response was to call up an ambush of said hordes, ungrateful cretin.

Fortunately a quick horror spell and the skeletons were entangled with the masses of screaming, terrified kobolds, which was fairly appropriate considering my next action was to throw a potion of fiery horrible death into the pile. The blazing warmth of the pyre and terrified screams of the annoying mini-gnolls almost made up for the generally terrible, dirty experience down there, poking through ore, slurry, and scrabbling around in the dust disabling their primitive traps.

Met a captive elven enchanter by the name of Xan down there. He seemed like a fun fellow, but we simply had no room for him to come with us (in his words "so many people in one place will likely draw a meteor down upon us" or something like that), so we bade him a fond farewell after spending the night with him down there, roasting breads and sweetmeats on the blaze (only half out of camaraderie, the fire had in fact blocked the exit).

I seem to recall there being a reward for murdering these kobolds, so back to Nashkel we go!

Maybe _they'll_ reimburse me for my axes?

_Hour: Sexts_

900 Gold? "A small fortune by anyone's standards"?! I hate Amn, or Athkatla, or whatever this backwards little nation is called. We travel North to Beregost, and comparative civilisation, soon. For now we're heading back to Neera's cave of impossibly strong bow-goblins, since she's been pouty ever since she died the last time.

Joy.

**11 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Vigils_

Had another nightmare in the night, though thankfully my Father wasn't featured. In my dream I turned away from killing the annoying cleric from the mines a second time.

More disturbingly perhaps, was waking up crying blood, with a new magical spell in my repertoire that no mage could cast.

What the hells is happening to me?

_Hour: Nones_

The entire goblin tribe, and the last of the red wizards after Neera have been dealt with, at least for now. Supreme magical superiority is nothing compared to a good Horror spell combined with supreme physical brutality.

The mage we were seeking in the cave (I want to say his name was Alphonso or something?) apparently has even less control over his spells than Neera does, so his attempts to suitably reward me for saving the indigenous Wild Mage population of the Sword Coast ended in teleportation-related disaster, leaving her with no answers and nobody to blame but me.

So yeah, she's angry with me. I'm not sure what I actually did wrong, or how everything I say to try and salve the situation gets turned into something bad (is this a kind of magic spell? I know Imoen's managed to cast it on occasion, maybe she does have talent after all?), but I'm keeping a low profile until it wears off.

Anyway, off to Beregost we go, according to a letter in the Kobold Lover's ex-personal effects a contact linking his shady mining gig to the recent bandit attacks was staying in an inn there, so we'll be paying him a visit now.


	15. Into The Cold Empty Gray

**12 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Terces_

Met the Elminster impersonator again. He told me he knew Father (strange, I don't remember him going to any conventions like that), but refused to tell me anything except to look for bandits or something. Is there a spell that cures senility? I'll have to ask Viconia.

Anyway, now we're here it's time to pay a little visit to the cleric's contact.

_Hour: Terces - cont._

We now know the location of the Bandit's next attack. I didn't actually get involved, Dorn just let himself into the guys room, when he came out, he had the information in his green little mitts.

Sweet Goddess the _screaming_.

Thanks a lot Dorn, now I'm going to be up reading stories to Imoen all night.

Anyway, the next step in our little mystery should be somewhere in Larswood, off to the North East (Goddess forbid that we not be forced to traipse from one end of the province to the other less than once per week). So, once we've checked to see if the temple heals mental trauma we're off East to avoid the primary caravan routes, and any guards that may still be looking for us.

**15 Kythorn**

_Hour: Vespers_

I hate gnomes, and I hate basilisks.

It's hard to say which more.

I knew the last few days had gone too smoothly. Our journey Eastwards met us a new pet, Korax, who asides from not being an animal (arguably a plus, given our recent experiences), was possibly my favourite pet since Father "lost" my baby dragon turtle "Fanx" thirty-six years ago.

Anyway, Korax the ghoul. Or ghast. Or whatever he was supposed to be, was all too happy to be a good boy and charge in front of us slaughtering the local wildlife for us, which, since they happened to be basilisks, whose primary mode of attack is "stand in front of the flesh-eating undead monstrosity and stare at it" allowed us to clear the majority of the area of these dangerous creatures, leaving the area comparatively safe for the local populace.

Until we met the gnome.

Apparently the crazy pseudo-dwarf had spent his time taming the local basilisks, and was using them to murder people and put them into a grisly statuary. Korax, being of the unholy deathless abomination persuasion was entirely immune to the attentions of the gnome's basilisks, but this didn't help him weather a barrage of magical abuse from Murdergnome, he fell first, and without him attracting the attention of the basilisks, Neera fell first, then Viconia, Dorn, and Kagain as we raced to finish off the Basilisks before they finished us.

The last Basilisk felled Imoen just as I applied the final shaft to its skull, and now here I stand, amongst the frozen stone.

It's just Aleph and me now.

I don't know what to do.


	16. Is it someone new?

**17 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Terces_

When they write a book about my adventures, I'm sure they'll extol on my Elvish virtues, ingenuity, cunning and bravery in the face of danger. Alone I slew a lesser basilisk, struggled across the land to the temple, twice fighting off packs of wolves as I was mercilessly hunted across the savannah, and a third time besting a Flind in single combat as it came upon me while I caught a few scant minutes rest to try and recover my spells.

Though my wounds are severe, not only did I reach the temple and get back to where my friends fell, I rescued another young woman who had been trapped in stone as well.

I've earned myself four kisses on the cheek for my heroism (though I must admit Dorn looked kind of intimidating when he puckered up), and Kagain didn't even complain about the cost of the scrolls I used.

Everyone is gravely injured from our misadventure, so we'll be travelling to Beregost to recover from our ordeal before heading North once more.

**19 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Terces_

Well, I've finally done it. I've struck a blow against the racist human-centric organisation from which it may never recover.

I've made a Paladin fall.

The tin-plated ape "Ajantis" challenged us on a public road, and then, when I called him on his nonsense (and maybe insulted him a few times, what can I say? Idiocy provokes me) he attacked out of anger, leading to him falling as I watched.

There wasn't actually any thunderbolt striking him down, but I swear I saw a dimming about his posterior regions. At least until I lodged a magic missile up there. I'm sure this is one Paladin who'll have some 'splainin' to do to his boss when he gets up there.

_Hour: Vespers_

For some reason, Imoen's been giving me the silent treatment all day.

Probably as a result, I've agreed to some charity work, finding a farmer's missing cow-chasing son.

In the morning. Paladin corrupting makes me tired.

**20 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Sexts_

I hate caves.

I'm actually pretty okay with Ankhegs, they're pretty easy since Viconia just casts "Power Word Lay There And Take It" on them whilst Dorn and Kags give it to him with large and unfriendly weapons. Not bad target practice for my bow either, I swear I'm getting better.

This doesn't really outweigh the fact that we're walking through a dark, dinghy cave full of giant insect dung, puddles of acidic spit and Kagain, but at least there aren't any kobolds.

_Hour: Sexts - cont._

Dorn, worryingly, has taken to collecting severed Ankheg heads, muttering something or other about betrayal.

I really don't understand him at times, each of the heads has got to be about half my size, but... he seems happy enough?

_Hour: Nones_

Unfortunately (I guess? I thought humans had it pretty easy replacing children) the cow-chaser died, so we gave his corpse over to his father. Ims was still glaring at me, so I handed over a hundred gold so he could buy a new child.

_Hour: Vespers_

Apparently that was enough, because Ims made up with me over dinner, on the condition I promise not to slaughter any more paladins.


	17. Badly broke

**22 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

Our adventures (or possibly 'bounty') have taken us back down South again, where we've been hired to guard some archaeological dig site for a day. Since it's incredibly unlikely their dig site coincides with an ancient necromantic cult planning to take over the sword coast (I'm sure the odds of stumbling across more than one world-conquering scheme per month are astronomically slim) this should be a walk in the castle grounds.

_Hour: Terces_

Apparently archaeology is more dangerous than the hundreds of books on the subject in Candlekeep library suggested. Our pay is well earned, and what I can only assume to be union strike action (I was browsing my spellbook when people told me we were fighting, so I wasn't really paying attention) has been mercilessly crushed. On top of that, we found an ancient idol! The thing looks valuable, so naturally we kept it after our employer left. I'm pretty sure whatever curse is on it is nothing that a temple couldn't clear up.

_Hour: Terces - Cont._

I hate abominations attached to ancient religions worshipping gods of death and destruction.

Once we finished picking up all the pieces of Viconia, Imoen had the bright idea of hiring a courier to carry them to a temple of Shar. Hopefully they'll be able to do something with her, right?

**23 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Nones_

You know, I've finally had it with Thalantyr, I'm a regular customer, why is the senile old bastard constantly rude to me? If he makes one more comment he's going to get a boot to the head.

At least I have a fabulous new outfit.

**25 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

Wellp, everyone's dead again. That's the last time I try and talk down a crazy person (in fact, I may exterminate them on sight after this), they summon ogre mages enshrouded in enough magical protections to kill a demigod.

I managed to lure him onto some traps I set up the night before (camping in this place has a nasty habit of getting you mugged by the walking dead, or worse, kobolds), then Dorn and Kagain did their things whilst Ims and I peppered him with arrowfire. Neera found her spells fizzling against his forceshield, but she figured out that her wand of frost could pierce it. By that point Immy had taken a lightning bolt to the chest and Neera was next in a blaze of magic missiles.

By this point Kagain had decided discretion was the better part of survival and was trying to run, only to take another lightning bolt in the back for his troubles. Dorn died just as he was trying to drink his potion of invisibility to pull the same (thanks guys), so there was me, still plugging away with my bow.

After he stabbed me once, he paused long enough to put up a spell of missile immunity, so I booked it (I'm delicate, you know?) for Dorn's corpse, wiped the orc spit off the invisibility potion and chugged it. Whilst the ogre was swinging around looking for me, I went over to Neera's body and grabbed her wand. Two blasts to the chest (and another stab wound for mine), and the mage went down, leaving me standing alone amidst the desolation.

I've had to leave my books behind, all four library totes, and I've made a cairn for all the lost stuff to protect it from the elements whilst I'm gone.

I don't have the money to pay a temple, thanks to my new outfit (without which I'd have a rather sizeable absence in my chest cavity), so the best I can do right now is get to a temple and pay them a few pieces of gold to salt the corpses of my beloved friends. And Kagain.

Once again, I have no idea whatsoever what I'm going to do now. Maybe I'll head north and see if I can find any paying work.


	18. Valley of Death

**22 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Nones_

I write this as I lay, bleeding, upon the muddy floor, the rain spattering upon my head.

Of course, Assassins took the opportunity of my vulnerability to attack. Four of them, to be exact.

Alone and outnumbered, I managed to run for a time, blinding them with a glitterdust spell so I could set up a trap for them, what followed was a running battle that lasted almost an hour, I've expended almost every spell in my spellbook, expended three more charges on Neera's wand, and used every healing potion in my possession, and sadly, the assassins had none themselves to replenish me.

So here I am, as close to death as can be, in the middle of some Goddessforsaken wilderness, laying among the slightly squishy bodies of my own partymates.

I can't lay here any longer, this self-pity is beneath me. I see smoke to the North West, it may be a settlement.

_Hour: Nones - cont._

I had to leave my companions at the scene of my battle with the assassins, but I've managed to make it to Gummykin, a halfling settlement. Not only is there essentially zero functioning economy there, but on trying to perform the sole paying job in the area, I've found myself in a trap filled death trap full of kobolds and undead.

_Hour: Vespers_

I hate kobolds.

Upon negotiating the maze I find myself, where else, but Firewine Bridge again, near the site of my party's demise. I _thought_ that wandering bard looked familiar.

_**23 Kythorn, 1369**_

_Hour: Lauds_

Heading North once more to ensure my cairn of valuables remained intact, I ran into an individual who claimed to be a master swordsman. Be that as it may, apparently this did not allow him to contend with a master mage, and I took the opportunity to head west to a nearby tower, where a wandering merchant kindly allowed me to pawn the late swordmaster's stuff.

With the funds from my excursion, I managed to return to Dollykin and revive Kagain, whose startling ability to metabolise alcohol into limited powers of regeneration (I jest not), allowed me to make do without further costs of healing, at least until the grumbling dwarf helps me to carry the rest of my party back to Dullykin again.

Hopefully we'll be back on track imminently, dear journal.

_Hour: Vespers_

Where once again I should enjoy the adoration of my peers... Well, companions at least. Instead I receive complaints and criticisms.

Honestly I think they're all incredibly insensitive, they should realise that their gear was simply too heavy to carry whilst maintaining the intensive logistical feat required to carry five people thirty miles on foot.

Obviously if I'd realised there was a short-cut through the mountains via kobold hell then things may have been different, but all the same, I should think that a short walk in their skivvies was infinitely preferable to travelling the Great Beyond for all eternity.

Plus I needed their armour and clothes to form a protective shell for my book collection so the elements wouldn't damage them.

_Hour: Complines_

I still hate kobolds.

Anyway, we've cleared out kobold hell. Apparently there was another ogre mage, so the party was all gung ho about it and he was chunked into itty bitty flesh chunks faster than Dorn could say "sesquipedalian loquaciousness".

I admit I was a little freaked by the ghost story that bard told us, so when I saw an army of ghosts I thought it time to call it a day. We're heading back to Gullykip in the morning to doubtless be underwhelmed by the monetary gratitude of smallfolk and their no-horse town.


	19. Tidying up

**24 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

I'm delighted to say that not only were we rewarded for our heroic efforts (a paltry sum), but I've found several volumes of book that weren't in my collection. All in all, everyone dying and my fleeing to Dollykin totally worked out for the best.

Still, enough is enough, we're heading West to Beregost to recuperate, and then we probably should end this bandit camp so I have spending money again, leaving the ghostly elven ruins of Firewine behind us.

_Hour: Lauds_

Amazingly, Imoen, without any prompting, struck up a conversation about magical theory this morning, and asked that I teach her some things instead of her usual bedtime stories.

Unfortunately I was eating breakfast at the time. Thankfully Dorn was nearby or I may be on the way to a temple myself, though the pounding he gave my back has left me leaning on my staff a little heavier than I have been since our coastal adventures.

_Hour: Vespers_

More ghosts!

We passed by an interesting ruin on our way to Beregost. Apparently it's impossible to engage in amateur archeology without being molested by undead apparitions. Mister spooky demanded we enter his creepy underground layer and risk certain death for a book of all things.

Naturally I was interested.

Overall, not as terrible a place as one might imagine. Still creepy and full of dirt, but at least it was kobold free. I read the book on the way back to the surface.

Good thing I did, Doctor Spookington grabbed it out of my hands when we got out of there and went wherever it is creepy ghosts go when they finally get their way.

Now we're finally on the road to Beregost again, now we've found their location from piecing together the various bandit groups roaming the area (sometimes literally, we're getting pretty good at this), it's not going to be too long before we head there.


	20. Parties Partying

**26 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Nones_

Well, the bandit camp's history. We tore through them like a cactus salad, and basked in the afterglow of explosions, burning buildings and the screaming of bloody murder.

It's little acts of public service like these that really serve to disincentivise banditry as a viable lifestyle. The roads are safe once more.

Oh right, I almost forgot. Kagain's a zombie now.

Well, not quite. I don't think he died, unless I wasn't paying attention, he tried on a ring he found, and now he's a shambling, rotting monstrosity. Whilst the smell is arguably an improvement, I'm strongly considering forking out the hundred gold involved in removing the cursed ring, he's even slower than before, and I swear he keeps staring at my head and drooling.

Anyway, we've found a lead linking the bandits to Cloakwood to the west, so after we've raised Imoen we'll head on over and see if we can't finish the job.

... Wait, did I even mention that she died? I swear I'm getting desensitised to this.

_ Hour: Vespers_

Went North from the Bandit Camp and found a priestess of Umberlee who'd been picking on some farmers (I think I forgot to write about them telling me this, because I didn't care). She picked a fight when we pestered her to raise Imoen for us, so Dorn beat her until she cut it out and we got the whole story - apparently her mother had been robbed and killed by the farmers who were whining at us. They were trying to play us! So we went back South and stabbed the farmers until they were sorry.

Or possibly dead, hard to tell.

All in all, not a bad eight hours work, though the kid left without raising Imoen in the end. Typical.

**Kythorn 27, 1369**

_Hour: Complines_

Well, we had to go all the way to Berrygost, but we got my darling Immypoo raised from her eterminal rest. To celebrate our victorious camping against the bandits we are staid in the Juggles and getting shlaggered.

Write more later, Dorn is threatening to sing again.

_Hour: Complines - cont._

Neera has just has had the great idea of trying to magic while we're all empowered by alcocohol! We're going to do that now, we'll be famous!

**Kythorn 28, 1369**

_Hour: Primes _

Well we're not going to be going back to Beregost for a week or so.


	21. Chapter 3 - Into Cloakwood

**30 Kythorn, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

Well here we are in Cloakwood, moderately further from civilisation than is usual even for us. As soon as we arrived, we yet again ran across crazy druid cultists, harassing a nobleman on a hunting sabbatical in the area. Unfortunately he offered us payment to negotiate with the Druids on his behalf, and I have poor impulse control so I accepted.

Naturally, when we suggested "working things out" rather than "murdering the noble," they attacked like rabid wolves. Fortunately we were ready for their peculiar brand of crazy, I'd trapped the area beforehand just in case talks went sour and my counterpoints were barded

I shudder to think we might have been _travelling_ with one of these lunatics in our midst all this time had things gone just a little differently.

The nobleman was delighted at his rescue, and offered us use of his demesne for the night (well, "left it unlocked") as he left the forest, so we're taking a night to recover from our trip and count our well deserved earnings.

**1 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Matins_

Another nightmare, and the noble's pillows are well and truly ruined ( though not as badly as the bed that Kagain slept in. Really must remember to visit a temple). My nose as well this time.

I woke up before anyone else, so I threw the bloody things into the hearth and wiped my eyes clear before anyone saw me.

They don't need to know about this.

_Hour: Lauds_

Day two in Cloakwood.

We've met up with an elven archer called Coran yesterday. He's told us he's hunting wyverns in the area for the mayor of Beregost at two thousand a head. This sounds like just the thing we need to soothe things over there, so once he swore he wasn't a druid, affiliated with Druids, or the pet of a small child, he was accepted into the group.

_Hour: Sexts_

These woods are infested by giant skittering monstrous spiders and their webs, almost invisible, hang across pathways ready to ensnare in preparation for a grisly feast.

In short, pretty creepy. Thankfully with three archers in the group now we're fairly solid at taking them down before they get into elf-munch range, and all three of us, Coran, Imoen and myself, have taken point, cutting down the webs before they can cause problems.

_Hour: Nones_

Well, we've just met the fattest, ugliest creature I've ever seen, apart from Kagain, and covered in spiders to boot (her, not Kagain).

Thankfully she was no more immune to flames than her creepy gross disgusting companions, so the world is just a little prettier, net, now we're done.

As if in retort, no sooner had we struck down the self-proclaimed spider queen, the skies opened and a torrential downpour struck. The rain has so far done a terrific job of driving off the spiders, and it makes seeing their webs easier, so hopefully we'll be able to make a bit more headway now.


	22. Down and out

**2 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

Cloakwood, day four.

I believe we may have accidentally killed a bard.

Considering the obvious, nobody was particularly broken up about that fact. I just mentioned it because I thought it was funny.

As suspected, the Spiders had no reason, coming to us in the rain and were soon left far behind us. This particular region of the woods was infested with yet more crazy druids. Emphasis on the was. We've slaughtered them all, and one squirrel Coran thought might be a druid in disguise. Aleph wasn't complaining of course, since that meant he got a second breakfast.

We even found one of them actually living in a tree, because apparently carving the living flesh out of a living organism and then squatting inside it is morally superior to using some nice, unliving stone. Once we cleared him out though, it seemed a good place to spend the night, so we're spending yet another night in these woods.

**3 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

Cloakwood, day five.

Last night, Imoen finally decided to take up the mantle of a spellcaster, I'd been expecting this for awhile now, she's actually taken to the subject with a dedication almost unheard of for her.

She's sworn not to lift another purse until she's mastered the art of mysticism, which is a bit weird if you ask me, but whatever, must be a human thing.

Even better, all those scrolls we've been carting around as spares have now found their way into her spellbook, leaving my pack comparatively clutter free.

I'm not sure how she'll cope just relying on her apprentice level magical skills, but at this point we're tearing through druids faster than ever.

_Hour: Sexts_

We found two baby wyverns in the possession of a woodsman. Coran says they're too young to be the ones we're looking for, but just to be safe, we now have two heads probably worth about 200 each.

In other news, I think Kagain's mind has finally started to rot, he's been complaining about forests and "pansy elves" all day. I swear if he goes for my brains he's going on a one way trip down the river.

_Hour: Nones_

We found the big wyverns. Honestly I was expecting more... Everything, really. But hey, 2,000 gold is 2,000 gold, and maybe we can pay for some of the damage we may have allegedly caused with it.

At this point, I think our quarry (literally) lies to the East. We're still waiting for Kagain right now as I write this, he's walking slower than ever nowadays since one of his feet fell off. I'll update again when we're done.

_Hour: Complines_

Well, that's the bandit operation down, and I even got myself some snazzy new boots out of it. Now I can walk half as fast as everyone else without falling behind.

More or less important things, before I forget them:

Imoen died.

Again.

This time she was locked in highly unimpressive, yet energetic, staff-on-staff combat with an enemy mage when the latter loosed a lightning bolt that struck her down... And then bounced off the wall three times, hitting them every time until they exploded into chunks. It would have been hilarious if she hadn't been carrying both the History of the North and the History of Shadowdale on her and they hadn't been ruined. Thankfully I've read both series now, but this is a terrible loss for the library, we'll need to keep an eye out for replacements. Also we should probably raise Immy again. I still don't get why she won't just use her bow when she runs out of all two of her magic missile spells.

Neera got poisoned, so I cast my newfound dreamspell to cure her. Everybody has been looking at me funny since.

Our token Dwarf has been replaced by another token Dwarf, a Cleric called Yeslick. He took one look at Kagain and Turned him - and no, I didn't know that could happen. Thankfully Kags wasn't holding anything important, since he was still ambling, very, very slowly, into the distance when we left the mines (in hindsight, we might have actually caught up with him, but it honestly never occurred to any of us). All in all, I'd rate this as a positive change, Yeslick seems pleasant enough, and his smell is positively fragrant. For a dwarf.

Apparently yet another mage was running things down here, fortunately I was scouting ahead and spotted him from the shadows, so our fearless cleric dispelled all of his magical protections and cast Power Word Lay There and Take It on him. I'm still not sure how me managed to teleport whilst he was unconscious, but four wands, and setting him on fire, seemed to do the trick. He may have been a powerful mage had he been awake, I'm not sure, his late apprentice wasn't helpful in that regard.

We've destroyed the mine, for good I assume, denying the region with vital iron ore solely in order to spite our enemies, as well as stealing their property - thousands upon thousands of gold's worth of slaves.

Despite this fact, I'm assured by both Yeslick and Coran that this means we're heroes.

Since this is as a consequence of my killing people and taking their stuff on a far grander scale than ever before, I confess that the finer points of relative morality have escaped me, but who cares? Everyone thinks we're heroes, I'm going to the Friendly Arms and everyone's getting rocked off Evermead.


	23. Aside

**5 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Vigils_

Another "nightmare", though its contents seemed scarcely a fearsome thing compared to its side effects. I dreamt of blood, and woke up to blood once more, more than ever before.

_Hour: Vigils - cont._

Apparently Kagain was strange, even among dwarves. I'd thought his ability to recover from mortal wounds was a dwarf thing, but Yeslick has disabused me of the notion, and requested I stop using my vampiric magic on him to replenish my acute bloodloss.

_Hour: Primes_

It may be the drink talking, but I swear I met the Elminster Impersonator again last night, telling me that it is of utmost importance that I travel to Cloakwood and stop the bandit menace. Apparently he's been lax in stalking me lately, I don't even know.

Sadly, a "misunderstanding" happened last night (I don't remember what, but Dorn is looking distinctly pleased with himself and is sporting a strangely familiar belt), so we're on our way south to Beregost to earn us some wyvern-slaying prestige.

It was nice being heroes for a change. Ah well.

_**6 Flamerule, 1369**_

_Hour: Lauds**  
**_

One of these days you senile old coot! One of these days! Wham, bam, dimension door to the moons!

As might be guessed, I visited Thalantyr today, commissioning a new robe to help Imoen die less horribly. Did he remember us?

Of course he didn't, rude as ever.

Thankfully he has managed to expand my magical library further, at a substantial discount (though he snootily informed me that he didn't trade in non-magical treatises), so he may live. For now. I even bought Dorn an evil blood sucking skeleton claw ring. I think he really liked it, he spent a good hour admiring it.

_Hour: Lauds - cont._

Imoen asked if her new robe made her look fat. Thanks to my new boots, I've successfully been avoiding her since. Hopefully I can keep this pace up until we get to Baldur's Gate the day after tomorrow, when she'll have forgotten why she wanted to catch up with me in the first place.


	24. Chapter 4 - The Gateless Gate

**8 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Terces_

I think I love Baldur's Gate. No sooner have I stepped through the gate than Scab, captain of the guard, has asked, nay DEMANDED that I break into a wealthy establishments building and rob them blind in exchange for 2,000 gold.

Or "investigate" them, I don't suspect it really matters which.

Either way, we found the people Dorn was looking for, with predictable results, especially because I (and in case Imoen is reading this, this was in no way related to the gnome who implied they were smarter than me) spent two hours rigging up a lethal death trap at the end of the bridge. The moment one of them stepped into range, an explosion of lethal stabbity death was released, with the unfortunate happenstance of missing said gnome.

Elminster impersonator met me again in Baldur's Gate, this time he actually talked a bit about Father, and told me that Scat and his boss are both great people.

He also mentioned my blood, said it was "hungry". I admit that I was chilled to the core, though I put on a blank face about it to the rest of the party.

Regardless, it's time to find an inn, my cursed blood requires some cursed liquor to ease my cursed mood.

_Hour: Nones_

I'm pleased to say that whilst I haven't found any more copies of the Histories yet, I have "found" a number of new books in Baldur's Gate. I've also purchased Imoen a new staff that looked pretty, called "the Ossifier". It's a much more attractive affair than the her previous one.

In other news, I've been hired to steal something. At least, I think I've been hired to steal something. By a gnome I met in the inn. Since I'd doubtless have happily stolen it anyway to deny humanity in general of one more thing that I don't own, this is the validation I've always needed.

He didn't actually say where to find the place to rob of course, so I guess I'll just rob everywhere I can until I find it.

_Hour: Vespers_

Well that attitude paid off surprisingly well, I've been recruited by the local thieves guild.

Personally I'm of the opinion that that just gives a single repository for more wealth to be stolen, but eh, I could really get used to this "paid for larceny" lark.

In the guild I found another fascinating read, this one about interpretive dance. I made sure to carefully store it in my pack when I finished reading it, only to find it gone the next I checked.

Damn they're good.

_**9 Flamerule, 1369**_

_Hour: Primes_

Found our new home here in the Gate. The Sorcerous Sundries not only has enough glorious, glorious goodies to fuel my advancement to what I can only imagine to be archmagehood, but enough to drag my two fellow mages along for the ride. Having cleared the mental reprobates on the top floor and taken their stuff, I'm pretty sure that means we get to live there now.

_Hour: Matins_

Heading North, we met two goons from the Iron Throne. They threatened us, then went to leave, which would probably have worked better if it wasn't for Yessy being a dab hand with Power Word LTATI. Both are now greasy smears on the ground, and I am the proud owner of an awesome new bow. Who says violence isn't the answer?

_Hour: Sexts_

I'm delighted to say I was right about the literature here in the Gate. I've begun to rebuild the History of the North, and even found a new series, history of the Drow (though given my personal experiences with the dark elves, I've resolved to take them with a grain of salt).

I think the guard in the Merchant's counting house wanted a word, but since I now walk about three times faster than he does, I wasn't about to sit around and wait for him. It can't have been that important, since I was long since done exploring the place before he reached me, I left just as he was opening his mouth.

**10 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

Met a gnome today, and a psychotic one at that. Thanks to party policy of terminating escaped mental patients before they have a chance to paw at my robe, the world is now a saner place on average.

_Hour: Sexts_

Continuing my campaign of petty larceny has finally paid dividends (well, beyond the obvious). I've found the Hall of Wonders, and I'm fairly sure I've stolen the thing that the gnome wanted by default.

I also found a book in a shrine of Tymora about how to win at dice. After I read it, I left it in a convenient spot in the temple so the priest could take it back - It occurred to me that I don't want to get on the Lady's bad side. I also agreed to "find" the body of a Tymoran priest's son for extra brownie points.

I say "find", because we already had it. As luck would have it, we happened to have already depopulated the Umberlant temple where the boy had died yesterday. Apparently they don't take kindly to tourists checking out their temple, whilst I take poorly to being talked down to by snooty religious types who won't even provide basic temple services. After I called their high priestess a brine gargling sea harpy things progressed along a surprisingly familiar line, and we found that the "doll" the priestess had been carrying around was actually a child's corpse. Hygiene clearly isn't a major factor among evil religious types.

As to why Dorn kept a rotting three day old child's corpse... Well I'd ask him, only I already know his answer: "You can never know when you may require a decomposing child corpse to prove your strength".

I don't even know what in the hells.

**11 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Primes_

My collection of books has grown so extensive, Yeslick has agreed to help carry some of the unique volumes. In exchange, I help him with his letters. Give me a few decades, hopefully he'll even be able to use scrolls.

I've also acquired a nymph, via a small scuffle with a minor mage too aggressive for his own good. She's passive aggressively informed me that she doesn't care what I do with her, so I'll be bringing her to what I assume to be an evil wizard for pay.

_Hour: Sexts_

After Imoen sweet reminder that I'm fragile, I have reconsidered my stance on the nymph. Time to go back in there I suppose.


	25. Ascent

**11 Flamerule, 1369**

_Complines_

I have finished scouring the books of the pitiful wizard's library, tiny specks of knowledge in the vast space of my mind that demands to be filled. He was but a gnat compared to my power, and what was his is now mine, including what I now clearly recognise to be a mystical tome for expanding my already astronomical intellect. I have rid myself of the nymph, she was worthless to me and she knew too much. Imoen muttered something at me about my "doing the wrong thing", as if such morality on such a small scale mattered to me anymore.

I banished them all, and have sequestered myself atop the Wizard's tower, perfecting his feeble attempts at arcane experimentation. Even his ability to craft a simulacrum, a duplicate copy at both the top and bottom of his tower, does not elude me, I shall soon master that as well.

Finally, I understand how to stop the Iron Throne, I even understand my own nature, at last, a realisation that would have shattered a lesser mind than my own. No more do I need to engage in such childish antics as petty theft or fetching small animals for diabolical children, with the paltry amount I had frittered away from before my ascension I shall forge an empire and bring stability to this troubled region. All shall be mine, arcane secrets, the service and adoration of all, and the ultimate cosmic power that is my birthright.

Come tomorrow, my plans shall begin, and the Sword Coast shall soon fall under my benevolent hand.

**12 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

The party "staged an intervention" the night before last. Apparently I was becoming "buffleheaded", as Imoen put it. Apparently I was "unreceptive", so Dorn was forced to hit me in the back of the head, which I have just awoken from this evening. I think I may remember... a telescope?

Looking back through my notes, apparently supergenius me was too smart to write anything down in his damned journal. All it would have taken was a few notes in the margin, maybe a little hint. Anything!

Whatever, I need a drink. I think there's a few parts of my brain that may have survived the half-orc. Take that supergenius me!

**13 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Sexts_

Well, clearly my mind is not what it was, for I have actually sided with a druid.

Well, partially I jest, but apparently between a lecherous wizard and a druid girl disguising herself as a cat, someone was ogling two human whelps in the night. Fortunately Yeslick cast a spell "detect deviant", and it became perfectly apparent which of them was the weirdo.

We all tried to pretend not to notice that Dorn glowed brightest of all under the spell.

_Hour: Vespers_

My travels about the town are going well, there remains little unexplored (though there is something niggling at the back of my mind, I may have something I'm supposed to do?). I've found magical helmets, trudged briefly through a sewer (an experience that required a hot bath at the end of it), and we've just been hired by a mage to find a fabled hat of Balduran, a short-lived human presumably of some importance to other short-lived humans.

**14 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

Walking around the sewers of Baldur's Gate today (Not my idea, I believe Dorn got us a job working for a local mortician or something), and Yeslick remarked, and I quote "'Tis just like the tunnels of my old clan."

Is there something he isn't telling us? Did he flood the mine on purpose to clean out some godsawful stench?

Anyway, we found the hat hidden behind a painting in a public house, because apparently nobody in the however many years it's been here has ever moved the painting for cleaning purposes, curiosity, or to replace it with a new, less tacky, painting.

Humans.

_Hour: Nones_

What is it with mages in this town and betraying everyone who does work for them?

I'm not an idiot, even after my h-h-head wound, so naturally when he summoned his hordes of evil minions to attack us and walked out the door, he found himself eye to eye with three floating explosive skulls of necromantic energy, blasting him into a fine spray of mist and his evil minions survived about thirty seconds longer,

Anyway, bored of Baldur's Gate and itching for some time on the open road, so we've decided to head North East, and see if there's any trouble we might rustle up.

Still think I'm forgetting something though.


	26. Barberism

**17 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Nones_

Apparently the main trouble in the North is yet more wizards wanting articles of clothing fetched. Who knew?

I'd stop doing jobs for them, but they have such nice things when they betray us and inevitably get slaughtered.

Our latest schtick, however, is rather novel. We find ourselves in a desolate region of ice, some form of magical prison for anti social wizards and creatures of frost. Since I still wear my Father's belt, the creatures of this place hold no danger to me; though I cannot say the same for its flame-slinging detainees, a nasty lot one and all.

I wish Imoen would stop being stubborn and help find traps now and then, we both know she's better at it than I am, but she won't lift a finger, odd little thing that she is, so I've been reduced to plan C - "send the meatshields in first", though I'm not sure how long they'll keep falling for it.

_Hour: Vespers_

We should be close to the exit now, thankfully. I think I'm getting a cold.

_Hour: Vespers - cont._

Since the mage didn't actually mention a reward, and let's face it, our inevitable betrayal is beyond depressing, I've decided to keep the cloak for now and come back with enough magical firepower to blow a hole through a small star before entertaining the proposition.

Instead, we're headed south, towards Burlap's tower or whatever it's called.

**20 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Terces_

Burlap was apparently a dwarf guy of some reknown who built a heavily trapped tower out of waist high gold (if it was waist high on a Dwarf or an Elf, nobody specified). At least so our late tour guide told us. Yes, late, no it wasn't us, for once. Everyone within a thirty mile radius of me apparently enjoys copious degrees of chaos, death and misery, since a demonic knight smacked him in the face with a fireball, then teleported off to the top of the tower.

_Hour: Sexts_

How come everyone gets teleportation spells, yet I've never seen a scroll? I'm beginning to think there's an unfair conspiracy to keep them from me. Even the stupid Succubus kept busting off teleportation spells like they were going out of fashion.

Speaking off, she kissed me, and now I think I have demonic herpes or something, I don't know. I feel terrible. Off to see a cleric now.

_Hour: Sexts - cont._

Dorn told me to bring her hair. I don't know about this.

Can you have evil hair?

**23 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Nones_

We're back in Ulgoth's Beard. After we fixed my Succubus induced affliction I wanted to see if there was someone whom I should complain to in order to get our money back on the tour, but apparently the guy had no family and no business. I should have smelled a rat.

We "turned in" our quest to the mage. Not being idiots, we struck first this time, with a dozen booby traps from around the area firing as soon as he opened his evil human gob followed by Dorn and Yeslick pouncing on him whilst the rest of us pelted him with missiles, magical or otherwise.

He looked pretty surprised at the end of it, I must say. Looked pretty surprised at the beginning too, and now Neera has a hot, if second-hand, new outfit.

Since there's no end to mages wanting things done and preparing to inevitably betray us after giving us moneys and goods for our services, we've accepted another job in town from what appears to be yet another wizard from Waterdeep or some other human backwater. He's hired us to travel to some island for yet more artefacts owned by Balduran.

Balduran's snazzy cloak sits snugly about my shoulders, and is frankly the coolest accessory to the coolest outfit ever; and despite looking ridiculous, Yeslick's head is well and truly secure (though that is arguably not unlike building a vault for a midden heap) wearing Balduran's horny hat, so how could we refuse the opportunity to steal yet more of an ancient hero's legendary stuff? Looks like we're taking a sea voyage!


	27. Castaway

**? Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds?_

As I sit here, waterlogged and having spent approximately seven hundred years coughing up sea water, I have begun to formulate the cautious opinion that perhaps slaughtering an entire temple of Umberlee's faithful and taking their stuff was not the ideal preparation for one who would at a later point be going on a sea voyage.

On the plus side, apparently doing Tymora all those favours appears to have balanced that out, and all six of us have survived the shipwreck completely uninjured.

Apart from me. Apparently I hail from the school of swimming which involves inhaling water each stroke.

Anyway, before I go full on Borinson Sucroe on this island and end up making Neera and Imoen my girls Tyrday, I suppose we'd best scout the island to find some coconut trees. I think I see a native yonder we can pump for information about how best to exploit their natural resources.

**25 Flamerule, 1369 - cont.**

_Hour: Nones_

Turns out the locals speak Common, and have constant, mildly obnoxious, demands. Werewolves threaten their existence or somesuch blah blah blah.

To top it off, the weather is temparate, mild, and frankly terrible weather for an island one is to be marooned upon for any length of time. Thankfully it seems this is the island where the Bald gentleman's ship crashed, and the natives are descended from his crew. None of them appear to be Wizards, so we agreed to help out.

_Hour: Vespers_

No sooner have I found and returned a little girls treasured childhood toy to her (free of charge, of course, and I made sure it wasn't actually a pet or something) than Coran comes out and says "I cannot approve of what we have just done."

I knew the elf was a deadbeat father and an enemy to all women, but I really didn't expect that sort of comment. If we get back to civilisation, we'll be having long and serious talks about his continued affiliation with us. Dorn may carry around corpses for fun, Yeslick may smell like the tunnels of his old clan (though he's a bit better after his recent immersion), and Neera is forbidden from casting spells in a mixed gathering, but we really don't need Mr Let's-Deny-Little-Girls-Their-Beloved-Childhood-To ys making us look bad.

**26 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

Sirens abound even here, as do hideous lycanthropes, though thanks to our efforts, there are now substantially fewer of both, and Dorn's finally happy again he gets to carry something dead around.

Overall though, sort of wishing we'd crashed somewhere more tropical, less Death-ey. I've tried getting everyone to set up a beach house, but after the first two times we were attacked by massive packs of ravenous wolfweres they got a tad lary of the idea.

On the plus side, we've found Balduran's boat, and will be clearing it out come the morning - not going into a creepy ghost ship at night, and in for a copper, in for a gold, we even found a job with a demented elven mage to find his spellbook from the wreck.

Traps have been deployed around his home just in case.


	28. Backwards

**27 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

I hate werewolves.

On the bright side, Coran is dead.

Whilst a terrible shame, at the same time it saves a scene of considerable social awkwardness later, so overall I consider that a net positive.

The worst thing is that he was actually holding the complete The History of the North when he died. Yeslick suggested we bury them with him, but I'm not losing them again! We've had to drop a lot of treasure, but we've at least managed to recoup our literary losses.

The leader of the "first" wolf clan (I'm fairly sure that our erstwhile employers are the second, but since they're not mages, I'm prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt) lies dead by our hand. When I say "our" I mean Neera, Imoen and myself, his flesh simply healed over the wounds that Dorn inflicted, and Yeslick's hammer literally bounced off with a rubbery schlup. After a few minutes of this we unloaded all our wands into the thing and it exploded into a shower of burning blubber. One of the wands overloaded and shattered, leaving us with only three. Here's hoping we don't have any trouble with the other side, though with our luck I'll be busting out the frost wands as spares.

We've also rescued a small infant, who I've placed in the care of Imoen; best to have him with someone he can relate to after all.

I'm too tired to battle a mage today, so we'll turn in the spellbook in the morning, once we've had a chance to rest.

**28 Flamerule, 1369**

_Hour: Matins_

This is one seriously backwards island. The mage was rude, but didn't betray us, and the non-mage chieftan actually welcomed us into their tribe and praised us for our service!

By which I mean infected us with lycanthropy, stole our sea charts and left us to fight their evil second in command and vast majority of the village.

I'm actually writing this as we go, these things are surprisingly weak compared to their wolfier cousins. Even the creepy kid with the doll decided she was going to take a shot, so I guess maybe we owe Coran a posthumous apology? I wonder if someone will actually raise him all the way out here?

_Hour: Lauds_

Not everyone fought against us, so not everyone died. Just most. We're just heading into the tunnels below the village, apparently there's some boat we can grab out of here.

Hopefully it's close, this place smells of wet dog.

**Midsummer, 1369**

_Hour: Sexts_

The status quo has been restored, our employer, the village chieftess(?), betrayed us (Dorn's smug about that one, as if he doesn't tell me that pretty much everyone we meet is going to betray me), and upon returning to the mainland (frankly I did such a better job sailing the ship than those sailors did, I'm beginning to think it wasn't Umberlee's doing at all, but Human error) we were betrayed by the mage-ey looking fellow who hired us in the first place. So yeah, I own a new boat.

Awesome?

Apparently killing the Chieftess and the Mage (who was himself a werewolf in disguise) lookalike cured us of our burgeoning lycanthropy; a bit of a shame really, I was looking forward to experiencing facial hair.

Anyway, Coran's ignoble demise and by now presumed consumption and defecation by werebeasts leaves us one member short of our little group, so tomorrow we'll need to scour the land looking for a replacement. For today, however, 'tis Midsummer, the festival of love and night of the feyfolk!

Which, since I'm single, means drinking until I see fairies.


	29. A Game of Throne

**2 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Complines_

Imoen is no longer allowed to recruit new members without the acquiescence of at least two other members of the party and full veto powers to myself. I can and will break into Candlekeep and burn her stuffed animal collection if this rule is ever broken.

The Gnome has been dropped off back at Baldur's Gate bridge, and an arrow lodged through his kneecap. By hand.

**4 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Sexts_

We've found ourselves a new thief by the name of Shar-Teel. I can't say that she's a very good Thief, but after beating her about the face and neck with my scimitar, she was the only one we found who was willing to join. Apparently you lose five or six people and you get a bit of a rep.

_Hour: Nones_

Imoen told me that she's shipping Shar-Teel and Dorn, so I informed her point blank that nobody was going on my new ship without me.

In other news, we found a guy who told me not to look at gravestones in Nashkel on pain of death. I didn't care for his tone, so naturally I covered the area with traps and magical explosives. Turns out he was a powerful vampire lord, and he was right; it really was a painful death, and now I am 58 gold pieces richer. Hardly seems worth it really, but it was on principle.

**5 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Matins_

Now we've found a new member (finally), we're heading to Baldur's Gate. I was reading my previous entries and realised that Star is still waiting to pay us for breaking into a wealthy mercantile establishment.

**7 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best of ideas to let Neera talk us into drinking up some Halruaan courage before we checked out the Seven Suns.

On the plus side, apparently I'm an annoying drunk. It took literally thirty seconds to enrage the dopplegangers who'd taken over the place into revealing themselves and attacking me. The drunken spellcasting that ensued was unfortunate, of course, but we did manage to put out the fire with a few well placed curtains to smother the blaze, and I'm fairly sure that the owner thinks it was the dopplegangers' fault, a belief I was in no rush to disabuse him of.

Of course we're still in trouble, though our ol' buddy Scab bailed us out. I'm pretty sure he's waiting for me to look at him and stop writing in my journal. Tapping his foot. Starting to look annoyed now...

Okay, I'm possibly still a little drunk.

_Hour: Sexts_

So yeah, Scab took me to see Duke Elton, who has promised yet another sizeable cash reward for breaking in someplace, this time the Iron Throne itself.

Awesome.

_Hour: Nones_

Being geniuses, genies, geniuii, geniusii... Really smart, we had no problems infiltrating all the way to the top, where we engaged in a pitched battle with the servants of Sarevok - the guy who sent all those assassins after me a few months back. It was pretty brutal, with Neera, Imoen and Sherry (I have a distinct feeling she would murder me if she saw me call her that) all falling in battle and having to do the walk of shame.

It's sad, Neera especially performed admirably with a Wild Magic burst saving us all from a confusion charm, but their archers took her down before I could missile them to a brutal and horrible death.

Sherry's complaining it's all a male conspiracy to get them walking around in their negligée. She just doesn't understand. I finally got the complete history of the North organised in Yeslick's backpack and there is no way in the hells I am going to disorganise it just so they can conform to societal norms of dress.

I'm actually writing this as they pick through the pile of corpses in the middle of the room; trying to figure out what stuff is theirs and what belonged to the cultists.

Hm. I wish I had cultists.

_Hour: Nones - cont._

Actually, why do these people follow me around again?


	30. Homeward, Bound

**8 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

They say you can't go home again.

Apparently they're stupid, because a lot of people go home again on a daily basis. Presumably their home isn't an island Library Fortress of course.

Where was I?

Ah yes. We're on our way to Candlekeep, based on documents indicating that the people behind this whole conspiracy were meeting there. Elton gave us a book valuable enough to gain access (which is nice, since it saves me from having to part with Balduran's Logbook, the library's most valuable volume to date), and shunted us off on our way before we could say another word - not even "hold up, my pack's full, you push like that and something will fall out". Which I'm pretty sure happened.

Anyway, Imoen's dancing up and down like a demented gibberling she's so excited, I bet even Aleph will enjoy returning to his old roaming grounds.

...

Where is Aleph anyway?

**10 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Complines_

After travelling from Candlekeep to Elton's ducal palace, picking up one enraged cat, and travelling another sixty miles back to Candlekeep, I can safely say that I hate human aristocracy with the fury of a thousand suns.

_Hour: Complines - cont._

Candlekeep is much as I left it, Phyl's book is still in Dreppin's hay, Dreppin is still scratching himself most indelicately, and the priesthood is full of people who want to kill me. In this case, however, this would be because they were replaced by dopplegangers, rather than because I had an opportunity to filch the donations bowl. Thankfully, most of the people I know from my childhood were singularly unimportant and uninteresting, leaving them nearly immune to the threat of doppleganger replacement.

I saw Parda on the way in, obviously he was keen to inform me of the latest gossip, that, shock, dopplegangers were about, as though it weren't immediately apparent

_Hour: Vigils_

The first order of things was of course to visit the inn. not least to rummage through the rooms of the inn for old times' sake. Winthrop was delighted to see us, and barely mentioned buttocks at all, and to celebrate our homecoming, Imoen has suggested, of course, a quick drink before bed, so I guess we'll talk with Ulraunt in the morning.

**11 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Matins_

I awoke this morning with Neera's foot in my face, Dorn's belt buckle digging into the small of my back, and wearing my golden pantaloons. Backwards.

I still don't know about the cow.

All in all, Winthrop is considerably less pleased to see us now.

I don't think that we're really responsible enough people to be wandering around with hundreds of thousands of gold pieces to spend.

_Hour: Primes_

I'm writing this from the stacks. Apparently the Iron Throne are meeting upstairs, presumably because the rules of the library forbid me from murdering them all.

Coming home was a humbling experience, I've discovered gaps in my collection that I didn't even know were there! Of course, now they're not, and I'm pleased to say I've finally got both the final book of The History of the North, a signed copy of Book 8 of the History of Shadowdale, and the propechies of Alaundo, scrawled on the back of two scrolls. I put these back, I've little care for prophecy.

Regardless, enough time wasted here, I suppose I've an evil organisation's schemes to ruin.

_Hour: Primes - cont._

I've just seen my Very Good Friend and given him a Big Friendly Smile and Wave.

I know he hasn't been replaced, because the look of unadulterated terror was singularly gratifying. I do hope he likes the surprise I set up for him in his room, or the second surprise I coated his door handle with.

_Hour: Lauds_

I've just met an individual by the name of "Koveras", trying to claim he was an associate of my Father's, as though I were somehow incapable of piercing lies that wouldn't fool a five year old human whelp. From his detailed description of Father's fall, and his freakish height, I've deduced him to be the armoured figure I've seen in my dreams. Unfortunately he fled before I could strike, else rules of the Library or no, his flayed body would be a fitting memorial for my Father's grave.

At least when I allowed him to die.

I'm just heading to Father's old room now, Piato told me that something was left for me there, and it would be... comforting, to see the old place again.

_Hour: Lauds - cont._

Was this what you figured out, supergenius me?

Was the secret of my heritage so drab and uninteresting that you could not even be bothered to write it down?!

My whole life I have been deceived, a simple pawn in the prophecies of the founder, destined for death or abomination, an ignorant victim in the schemes of Koveras; Sarevok, my, for want of a better word, "brother".

I feel sick to my stomach.

_Hour: Sexts_

Dorn's been surprisingly supportive about the whole thing, which makes me automatically think this may be a bad thing, but on reflection, I suppose I'm okay with being a demigod. Certainly I'd prefer to be the child of Corellon Larethian, or even Llolth, than some human god of murder, but a spark of almighty divine power is a spark of almighty divine power, and it doesn't change the fact that I am my Father's child, not Bhaal's; he forfeited that right long before his death.

Anyway, I should probably be focusing on the more immediate issue of being in a death trap. Sarevok framed us for the murder of the Iron Throne leaders! So unfair. Whilst I did rob them blind (I'm only Elven), I left them excessively breathing, I shudder to think of what Neera getting excited in here might do to the books.

All the same, I wish I'd done it now since I've been punished anyway.

_Hour: Nones_

Tethtoril interrupted my picking the lock of the jail cell (seriously, they didn't even take our gear) to save us from "certain" death being transported to Baldur's Gate for execution... by transporting us to almost certain death in the Catacombs of the keep, but only after extracting a solemn promise not to disturb or touch anything down here or take any of the long lost tomes of bygone lore, priceless treasures, or ancient artefacts.

Naturally I'll provide a summary of the interesting stuff I find in my next entry.

_Hour: Vespers_

Nothing of huge value beyond two rare books. The first is one I am well acquainted with, improving my mental acuity, intuition and capacity to retain and access knowledge. The second is a clearly contraband magazine called "Burly Burlesque Brothers", complete with woodcuts of muscular monks in various stages of undress.

Obviously I read it for the articles anyway. I already feel significantly more burly by exposure, though thankfully no more burlesque.

I have since destroyed the book, because there is no way in the hells that I am risking Imoen reading it.

Speaking of Imoen, she just randomly announced a few minutes ago that she was confident enough in her magical studies to resume finding traps and picking pockets.

Humans are so incredibly weird.

_Hour: Complines_

Dopplegangers emulating friends, loved ones, and people I barely tolerate have been coming at us thick and thin. I have no doubts in my mind; if they knew me, then they would know to stand aside. Plus they're surprisingly terrible actors.

Except the one emulating Winthrop, he seemed pretty well perfect before he transformed.

I think we've finally cleared the last of them out, enough to rest. Hopefully we won't have to spend too many more nights down here, Yeslick may enjoy a stone sky, but the rest of us don't.


	31. Apocalypse Now and Then

**12 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Vigils  
_

A nightmare once more, and again a diabolical power with no suffering at the end.

Now that I understand their origin, their meaning is so obvious. These dreams are the divine essence awakening within. When my actions are too far from the "intended" behaviour of Bhaal, my body is rejecting and converting the divine essence to suit its needs, when they aren't, the essence establishes further its grip upon my soul.

Well, Winthrop always told me that the only time I did good deeds was out of spite. I guess he's right. I shall be the very paragon of purity, the examplar of virtue, I _shall_ master my divine blood under my own terms.

Enough writing, I see daylight ahead, and I have much work to do before I can next sleep.

**18 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers  
_

These long, sleepless days donating to charity, giving to beggars, and generally being as unmurdery (including even "resolving conflicts through compassion and understanding"), have been some of the most unpleasant of my travels so far, but it worked! In my dreams the taint is mastered, and over it I have triumphed. From the blood pouring from my ears, nose and eyes, it took a lot out of me to do so, but I feel more vital, more alive than ever before. Or maybe I'm just pathetically grateful to get some rest?

Anyway, now my rogue divinity is under control and I am a tranquil master of my own benevolent destiny, I guess I can stop behaving like such an arse kisser and can get around to slaughtering Sarevok, right after I head over to Burlap's tower; I did promise a lady I'd find her son, and that Demon Knight owes me sixty gold for my tour.

**29 Elesias, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_  
Well, after a long and arduous (and incredibly tedious) struggle, the dread tower of Durlag has been cleansed.

Sweet goddess what an egotist! You couldn't take a step without some spooky ghost, doppleganger, memoir, portrait, statue, mosaic or freaking door knocker tells you all about some prissy little dwarf who died forever ago and didn't have the common decency to shut up about it.

We were all actually a little psyched up to face the tour-ruining Demon Knight, no fewer than three people (well, one was a dwarf, and a ghost, so they barely count) talked him up to us, but ultimately, when it came down to the option to use dread magic artifacts to help defeat a diabolical enemy, Sherry and I instead endeavoured to cover the area with enough booby-traps (yes, I do call them that just to annoy her, everyone is _so _sick to death of her ranting on about men all day and night) to kill a minor deity, and sent Yeslick to be bait.

Apparently Pure Evil doesn't function particularly well with a dozen arrows through its face and a small exploding fireball striking them in the back of the head.

Long story short, we've found the kid, broken the Demon Knight's magic mirror he'd been using to mess with people, and found some magic dagger a dwarf back in Ulgoth's Beard wanted for some reason. Everyone's so pleased that even Sherry's stopped complaining about menfolk, at least for the last hour (though Dorn has still cheerfully explained how everyone is going to betray me about five times so far).

Now all that remains is to head to the Beard, collect our just reward, and then murder Sarevok! No more interruptions!

**1 Eleint, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

I hate cults.

There we were, happy and remarkably well behaved, when a demon worshipping cult stole our magic dagger, purportedly to summon forth the same grim demon from the Abyss that the Demon Knight served. By the time we took out the other cultists, the thief had scarpered into a nearby building ready to summon themselves some Demon God.

Well, I've just unpacked sixty of the potions I've been collecting for the last three months, and we've chugged the lot. There is no way in the hells that I let some devil worshipping twerps get in the way of me and my monetary reward for heroic services rendered!

2** Eleint, 1369**

_Hour: Nones_

I hate demons.

I still hate cults.

So yeah, obviously they'd just finished summoning the Demon when I got there, despite Yeslick's potion infused hammer-blow leaving the cult leader a smear on the floor (well, actually several smears, if you want to get technical) before Dorn could say the word "Tact". Infused by righteous indignation (and a probably illegal potion : blood ratio) Yeslick, Dorn and Sherry tore that demon up like a blender within seconds, it was beautiful.

It was considerably less beautiful the second time it happened, as the demon simply claimed the body of one of the cultists maintaining the spell, and positively vexing the third time, where it finally penetrated Yeslick's defences and dropped him to the floor, then took off Neera's head as she tried to cast one final fireball to take out the last of the cult. That one was probably for the best, since Dorn was definitely within ten feet of her. Just as my arrow was hurtling towards the eyeball of the final cultist, Dorn struck again, and the Cultist's head was replaced by a demonic knee. It still didn't stand a chance, of course, between Sherry and Dorn's admirable application of boots to buttocks and the fact that the demon looked like a pin cushion by the time I'd finished with him, I'm happy to say we're officially Godslayers.

Thankfully neither Yeslick nor Neera were too badly injured to be revived, so asides from Neera's mandatory whining about her "walk of shame" (I think Yeslick's hairy enough he just doesn't notice), I'm pretty sure that couldn't have gone much better. Once we're back there again (it's a long walk back from the Friendly Arms, being kill-on-sight in Baldur's Gate is _so _inconvenient), we'll be checking with the dwarf guy with the dagger for our reward, it's going to be awesome!

**3 Eleint, 1369**

_Hour: Vespers_

I hate dwarves.

And come to think of it, I hate humans too.

Not only were the townsfolk clearly harbouring cultists so they could more easily ambush us, but after saving her sole son and heir, apple of her eye, the caring mother for whom we braved trap-filled death tower rewards us with a whopping 0.019% of our current gold!

And the dwarf? Oh no, it's no trouble, we just **saved the planet**, no reward necessary!

I'm feeling so much less bad about all those civilians who got caught up as collateral damage in our fight with the cultists now. Forget these people, let the next demon that comes along have them, I've got some fratricide to commit.


	32. Chapter 5 - Breaking Baddies

**5 Eleint, 1369**

_Hour: Sexts_

Well, we've "smuggled" ourselves into the Gate, by which I mean "walked in o the gateless bridge in broad daylight". Apparently "kill on sight" isn't a big deal considering those clunky helmets they wear, but I can't say that the Flaming Fist were ever that impressive. Or competent.

_Hour: Nones_

Via one of my contacts in the Thieves Guild we have located (and terminated) two assassins staying in the sewers (human mores being bizarre and disgusting needs not be further elaborated upon). Apparently, based on their personal effects (it's remarkable how much one discovers about someone by running their pockets after they're dead) they were involved in a plot to murder the local dukes. From Imoen's attitude on the matter, I can only assume this to be more important than the typical human power struggles that barely last a decade or two, though were it not for one particular participant, I could care less.

Word on the street is that Eltan is sick, there is simply nothing I can do but enter the Flaming Fist stronghold to discover more. Since the streets are (theoretically) crawling with Flaming Fist Mercenaries, we'll be heading through the sewers, much to Yeslick's delight - I can only assume he was feeling nostalgic.

_Hour: Vespers_

Well, if we weren't hilariously, insanely, obscenely Wanted before, then our little foray just made it ten times worse. The flaming fist now harass us incessantly. At Imoen's urging, I restrained myself to a quick Horror spell to get a bit of peace and quiet whilst I conduct a little light shopping.

In the Iron Throne.

_Hour: Vespers - cont._

Well that wasn't quite the satisfying glorious descent of vengeance I was anticipating. Looks like Sarevok's already destroyed the Throne to accumulate resources for his ascent to power, so "brutal revenge" was more "casual sojourn".

It's not a total loss, one of his lieutenants was still around, and provided the name of a potential weak link in Sarevok's hierarchy, by the name of Tamoko, before she died. I'll need to keep an eye out for her (Tamoko that is). Even more interesting is Sarevok's journal (is keeping journals a Bhaalspawn thing? I hope my own journal isn't half so incriminating) which exonerates us completely.

Anyway, should probably save those dukes from their impending assassination.

After a touch of actual shopping that is, I'm sure this is going to be a pretty serious fight we're getting ourselves into.

_Hour: Complines_

The traitor actually found me by waiting outside the Sorcerous Sundries - a move so cunning that apparently not one of the city guard thought to replicate it.

In exchange for my assistance, she's asked that I spare Sarevok's life, ruin his schemes and shatter his confidence so utterly and irrevocably that he loses any ambition and zest for life and instead becomes content to live out a simple, mundane existence, with her.

A vengeance that lasts a lifetime and leaves its victim a broken and shattered thing, forever remembering what was lost and whose actions wrought their defeat?

Only love could be so cruel. Pray you fall before me Sarevok, because I am most definitely considering her offer.

Anyway, I have an invitation to a party tomorrow, and enough arrows of detonation to take down a castle. I think we're ready to start Sarevok's downfall.


	33. Derring Do

**6 Eleint, 1369**

_Hour: Lauds_

Well, this is it, half an hour early, dressed to impress (no, I didn't dress up, I just have great taste) and two lovely ladies at my sides (and a considerably less lovely lady currently sneering at the doorman for having "a sexist job description"). Dorn's fingering his sword, and Yeslick's eying the buffet table.

Let's mingle.

_Hour: Sexts_

Nothing says "party" like a series of improvised high velocity dart launchers deployed in a cross fashion along a door frame while the guards weren't looking. With a brief whimper of slaughtered dopplegangers, Sarevok's plan has been utterly trounced.

A shame we couldn't take him down as well, some mage ported in, whipped him out of our grasp, and ported out again - yes, _still_ there are people flinging around teleportation spells like it's going out of style whilst I've not seen a single scroll.

We pursue him below the city to bring him to justice, our name is cleared, his journal (and not mine, thankfully) is in the hands of the authorities, and we're to be handsomely rewarded for saving the city.

Damn we're awesome.

_Hour: Nones_

I hate mazes.

I also hate slimes, skeletons, and traps.

I have acquired something of a taste for healing potions however.

We've just sat down for a quick breather and to recover from it being obscenely dangerous down here, probably worse than Dullag's Tower. Again: Where the hells are _my_ teleportation spells?

_Hour: Vespers_

We've met, and spared, the mage who rescued Sarevok in our previous encounter - he's so far off from being our target it hardly seems worth the effort.

_Hour: Vespers - cont._

Apparently we're not alone down here, well, asides from the literal SWARMS of zombies. Iron Throne bounty hunters are also seeking Sarevok, or were, since they briefly entertained the idea of seeking me, before appreciating the finer points of my arrowgument. Tamoko, in a marvellous bout of consistency, also decided to bar our way, but I told her to bugger off; I've enough on my plate without getting involved with someone that crazy.

_Hour: Complines_

This is it. We've cleared out the zombies and are hunkered down outside the abandoned temple that Sarevok has sheltered in. He knows we're coming, so there's no point in rushing in spent.

Everyone's quiet for a change, lost in thought. Imoen's curled up close, for once not asking for any stories, and Neera's staring at the fire, biting her lip. Dorn's pacing back and forth "guarding the perimeter", so he says. Shar-Teel's checking her snares, over and over, most of them pointed towards the temple doors, rather than outwards in case of the shambling dead...

And yes, Yeslick has now broken the silence by saying how similar this undead zombie filled death trap is to his old clanhome.

Good work Yeslick.

If I die tomorrow, will it be Sarevok's hand who pens my next entry?


	34. Finale

**Eleint 7th, 1369**

I believe I shall. It shall be a glorious irony to write in the tatty journal of my weak deceased brother! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

7 **Eleint, 1369**

_Hour: ?_

Just kidding Journal, you know I love you.

So yeah, still alive. Who'd have thought? Neera, and Dorn lay dead before me, Shar-Teel and Yeslick lay in pieces, beyond revival, Shar-Teel dead at the hands of her own father, Yeslick cut down by Sarevok himself as he fearlessly tried to hold the line, a brutal death for the most honourable, least terrible smelling dwarf I've ever had the privilege of knowing.

It's oddly quiet without her saying how terrible Sarevok is for being a man, and him saying how similar the spacious interior of the abandoned temple is to the sewage filled tunnels of his old clan.

Imoen's the only one left. She's no cleric, but she's trying her best to bandage me up as I write this, so I'm sorry for the handwriting. I'll try and make it readable.

Neera was the first to charge - amazing for the girl who once told me she'd pick Flight over Fight any day. She said hello with a Cloudkill spell, and didn't stop hurling magic missiles and exploding skulls at them until Sarevok reached her and finally put an end to her rain of terror.

She didn't even Surge once, I'm so proud of her I could give her a hug.

But she's dead, and that would be creepy.

Dorn and Yeslick wasted no time taking the fight to them as they emerged from the fog, Dorn cut down one of the mages and gravely wounded another whilst Yeslick traded blows with Sarevok. He got a few good licks in, I hope he's happy with that, wherever he is. Probably sat next to Clangeddin telling him how familiar the celestial heavens look. It wasn't long after Yeslick fell than Dorn took the tip of Sarevok's blade through his chestplate and a bolt of magic - I didn't see which kind - blew Shar-Teel apart. I took Angelo down with an arrow between the eyes for that.

And then it was just Imoen and myself, alone. We took turns running frantically from Sarevok, only to see his lumbering half ogre finally stagger his way out of the mists. Momentarily cornered, it's probably because Tazok's blow knocked me forward that I managed to take Sarevok's somewhere non-fatal. Imoen kept slugging away with her sling until they'd turn their attention to her, giving me time to summon up some Mini Meteors. Just before Sarevok reached her, I distracted him with a meteor to the back of the head, then blew Tazok's head off with another. I managed to throw the rest at Sarevok before he reached me, this time his blade finding me in the belly.

Ims took this opportunity to smack him in the back with her Staff, buying me time to call up some more meteors, but he cornered her in between the crypts... I managed to throw her a potion of invisibility just before Sarevok could finish her, and my dear brother, who clearly didn't share a single gene with me in either the race, looks, physique or brain department, fell to my final blow to the open maw of his helmet.

I wish I could say I spouted a one-liner, but I took that opportunity to fall down and bleed.

So it's just Ims and me again, just like at the start of my adventure. It's been a crazy few months, and I've met, and said goodbye to, a lot of interesting people. Hopefully we can get Neera and Dorn raised again, and then we can try and find some new members, I wonder if Jaheira and Khallid ever found their way out of the wilderness? I wonder if Minsc finally had that psychotic break I was expecting?

My Father, my true Father that is, the one who raised me, has been avenged, and my evil brother has been thoroughly trounced, never to be seen again, if the crispy state of his corpse is any indication.

Feels pretty good.

Got to stop now, the noise of our battle has aggravated a few hundred of the zombies that were outside, I can hear them banging on the doors now.

Things can only get better from here.

Right?

**The End**

* * *

_Author's note: This concludes the adventures of Ravayu Atar, at least until Baldur's Gate II comes out. Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it (and if you didn't, feel free to leave a review saying why!)._

_~ Kholai Pantalion_


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